Bordering Wreckage
by Orrunan
Summary: An AU where the All Spark was found one human generation sooner. Meet Ron Witwicky and his kind-of-girlfriend Judy. Meet Wreckers whom Optimus Prime sent to secure the cube. Did he really think this would go smoothly?
1. Proloque: a mech tale by Judy Witwicky

**Proloque: A mech tale by Judy Witwicky**

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.

And warnings for the whole fic. Pay attention.

There will be some violence; this tells of war after all. Some swearing, Cybertronian and English, will occur. And, mentions of what most people would think as slash will occur too. I have two points. One: I happen to think that there is nothing wrong or odd in a gay relationship, and two: there won't even be any. My versions of transformers don't have genders, because they are inorganic beings with NO REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS. I use the word he of them just so I don't have to justify making them women.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a young mech who was sparked to become a Prime of his people, the keeper of the All Spark, back when there were no Autobots or Decepticons. At the same time, there was sparked another young mech who in time became he Lord Protector of the All Spark and the Prime.

The Prime led his people well during the Golden Age, and the sparks he created with the All Spark dazzled and shone like beacons, creating much beauty in turn. He made his job with the desire to capture the sparks of all who saw it and entice them to continue his work. He wanted to cherish Cybertron always despite the senate, which was somehow becoming the shadow to his light, turning darker every vorn. The Lord Protector saw what the Prime created, and desired to protect it. He knew he would do anything to have them and him safe and for his own, to keep them from the corrupt senate's hands and possess them forever.

Do you know what? On a very basic level their wishes were exactly the same, so it's hard to understand how everything went so horribly wrong.

Once there was a baby boy named Ron Witwicky who dreamed about a mystic cube from outer space and an alien war (because at times it pays to be a big life-giving cube with mystic abilities.)

When Ron turned six, the cube told him he had to go away for a while, and it would be better if Ron forgot about him and the visions in the meantime. He promised to come back someday and then Ron would remember.

So it did.

When Reg Simmons was four his father brought him to see the family legacy, a terrible metal man in ice. After that Reg often dreamed of gigantic war robots chasing him through a city under siege. (Those dreams were just dreams, just like sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.) When Reg turned fifteen the dreams eventually went away, but he had a feeling that he hadn't seen the last of violent giant robots yet.

He was right.

* * *

Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.

astrosecond 0.498 seconds

breem 8.3 minutes cycle (IDW continuity)

1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)

mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours

deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks

stellar cycle (IDW) 7.5 months

vorn 83 years


	2. Loaded information

**Loaded information**

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.

And this deserves a little warning of its own: A blink-and-you-will-miss-it reference of non-con. Or dubious con. What being processor washed is.

* * *

The Wreckers were a special task force composed of the best and the toughest die-hard fighters around and they tended to scare the living daylight out of even most of the Autobots. They weren't what people thought when they thought Autobots, but generalisations were just generalisations and just because mech was a badaft didn't mean he couldn't be one of the good guys. They were happiest blowing things up and the only thing Decepticons feared more than facing the Wreckers was facing their superiors afterwards, for they only left a battle against them as spare parts or as deserters, Decepticon officers being notoriously unwilling to call retreat unless their own afts were in fire. Wreckers were happiest when wrecking and that was good, because they were called in to fight when the odds of success are nonexistent, but the job had to be done anyway.

Their lives were like millions of snapshots to download, transmissions and mission briefings, repairs and razor sharp smiles. They bore it well and loved it, even if maybe once, a long time ago, they hadn't wanted to.

Springer knew his mechs were gung-ho robots, ready and willing to roll out into the thick of any mess at the drop of a hat and he loved them to pieces for it, not that he was ever going to admit it out loud. Topspin was his medic and a true bot of all trades. Springer knew there were medics. Then there were battlefield medics, whose priorities usually differed from those in strictly civil practice, in that they were often called upon to get soldiers patched up just enough to get them back into the field. And then there was Topspin, who didn't hesitate to rip a fuel pump off a fallen Decepticon to replace his team-mate's damaged one and Springer knew he wouldn't be getting another like him.

His weapons specialist Broadside had been there and seen it. The conquest of Kaon, the fall of Senate and Prime's reign and the beginning of the Great War. He was one of the survivors who managed to evacuate before Megatron's takeover and a bot didn't get any more veteran.

Springer knew his comrades like himself. Roadbuster was powerful and charismatic as a soldier, an inspiration to other Autobots and a natural leader on any battlefield, but outside of combat his natural ease failed him, having him retreat into his own space. He spent most of his time between battles planning for the next one or fighting random unlucky Decepticons and Springer worried at times about what would become of the courageous and well-liked Roadbuster he knew if the war ever ended. Sandstorm, field scout of the group because he was little better at going unnoticed than the rest of team, got bored easily and had hard time concentrating on mundane tasks. He craved excitement and since entertainment was hard to come by in frontlines he made do with fighting the Decepticons.

Scoop, being to resident tactician, used logic to their advantage, he could outwit the enemy at every turn. Relentless and resolved, he was always willing to help others out, no matter the danger to himself. Twin Twist would sink his drills into anything that moved and a lot that didn't at the smallest excuse. He love his share of violence and fighting as much as your average Decepticon did, pit had no fury like a Twin Twist fighting and didn't cause nearly as much destruction either. Optimus Prime himself had expressed worry about the miner's less than controlled nature, but no one could argue that he wasn't a good bot have at your back. Whirl firmly believed that insanity made an extremely effective weapon. Enemies flew in terror before the crazy dance in the air he pulled on the battlefield, like someone either totally out of control or out of his CPU.

Springer knew them all like himself and some days he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that they were all certifiable.

The newest form of insanity was a prank war between Sandstorm and Whirl. Laughter wasn't in short supply in Xantium. The special forces had a very different outlook on life than those more reluctant to embrace their new lifestyle and the best melee fighters were often the biggest troublemakers. Violent times made hardened sparks and sense of humour twisted like a drill. This particular brand of madness had started relatively small. When bored Sandstorm went to harass Whirl he got sprayed with a silly string. The next day Whirl woke up to find that he couldn't turn his optics on-line. Topspin had thought it funny, chuckling the whole time while debugging them, but Whirl had not. He had retaliated with a white noise generator hid inside Sanstorm's battlemask and had found himself pretty pink the next time he woke from recharge. Now he had set up an elaborate paint and glue and powdered plastic trap hidden in the hallway leading to Sandstorm's favourite wareroom and Springer was waiting who would trigger it first, for it would be too convenient to be the intended target.

He hadn't even considered ordering Whirl to take the trap down. Maybe he couldn't undermine his authority by doing something that silly, but he still had a sense of humour. He could even swear that he had heard Xantium herself, despite the fact she would get stained too, whisper: screw it the other way.

"Won't you need the trick bag with that?" Whirl oh so innocently goaded Sanstorm, who was upgrading his mathematics player, making a reference to his favourite tool box that just happened to be in the wareroom. Sandstorm turned his optics up from his work to give his team-mate a suspicious glare.

"If you have done something to my tools I'm feeding them to you," he threatened. Whirl gave him a damaged look.

"I wouldn't go that far!" he swore earnestly. Barely had he had enough time to say that when they heard a loud crash and Broadside's voice thrummed through the corridor.

"Aw, frag!" Whirl moaned and proceeded to run away. Sandstorm looked after him for a while like contemplating going after him and holding him down for Broadside, but just laughed in the end and waited for his comrade to storm the galley.

Springer hid his smirk with much practised ease.

"Sometimes leading you is like leading a sparling ed centre," he complained. Sandstorm gave him amused look to tell his moaning wasn't taken seriously for a second.

"Too much free time. We need some action," he told and thee door slid open to reveal a green and violet Broadside, covered in white and brownish red plastic powder. Their gameface hold a whole astrosecond.

"He went that way," Sandstorm eventually managed to blurt to the fuming wrecker in front of him between laughing fits, pointing to the wrong door.

"Merciful," Springer said after he had stopped snickering and Sandstorm shrugged, looking first the other way and then to the player.

"He made me laugh. How long are we going to be on probation anyway?" As far as the Wreckers were concerned vacation was something that only happened to other people, unless they really pissed someone important off.

"When things go to the Pit next time, of course. Prime is still less than pleased about our means to an end in Vertiga." He gave his head troublemaker a meaningful glare and Sandstorm looked less than pleased about that.

"They are pickybots. It was just property damage, after all," he complained.

"And who did most of the damage? Our own captain bitterness there, pro-wrestling with bad old Lockdown!" Scoop's voice boomed from the ship-wide comm. system, "And Broadside, it's your shift now so get your aft to the bridge!" Springer could imagine Whirl's relieved bearing.

"If this is what little free time does to us I fear to think what we would be like if this war ever ended." To him it seemed like a very unlikely course, after the countless vorns of animosity and sparkbreaks and killing after killing.

"You think it's going to end?" Sandstorm could remember a time before war, he just couldn't recall what it had felt like.

"Hey, Springer, Sanstorm!" Scoop's voice called out again, now only in their personal comm. system as he presumably left the bridge. "Really, have you thought what you are going to do after the war is over?" His words were oddly hesitant and even mystified. Sandstorm looked at Springer blankly and he looked right back, then shrugged.

"No idea," he answered. He knew the infantry mech felt little disturbed by the lack of data. Springer was the leader of the group because he was the cautious and level-headed one and that he didn't have a back-up plan and second emergency plan for everything, hadn't thought about something that basic and…

"It's not like you know either," he made a guess and his comrade's silence confirmed it.

"It's not like we really expect to survive this war." Because it didn't matter how good you were and how many times you cheated death, the enemy just needed to get lucky once.

"It's not like the Mega-creep is going to survive either. He's a walking cliché, too evil to win," Sandstorm said confidently. Never leave an enemy behind, he knew all of that.

That was when a strange ship appeared in their sensors. Broadside, wishing madly and deeply he wouldn't have to go anywhere looking like he did and cursing Whirl to the Pit, sounded alarm.

* * *

Happily ever after can be stuff for nightmares.

Taser was happy, he could only remember being happy, he was sure he would always be happy and he was happy about being happy. It wasn't very typical of a Decepticon, but his creator had come to the conclusion that happy subordinates wouldn't backstab you or cut corners in their work out of boredom or fear. Endgame wasn't good at making people happy the old-fashioned way, but he was a mighty good coder and so he had the most loyal, if ridiculously grinning, staff in all Decepticorps. He could make people any way he wanted them to be and it made Taser happy. At times it was hard to decide what to do, because every option was as good as any other, but luckily people above him would usually make the decisions for him. He was pleased to work for Endgame and he was pleased to be cost-effective.

Endgame owned that part of space, answering only to Starscream now that Megatron had been misplaced, dealing in stims and pumps and parts and death. His forces were happy to oblige. The warrior builts among them got send against the Wreckers a whole lot for they never turned tail. They were only too happy to die for their cause and Taser even had downloaded one black box record where a fatally damaged seeker giggled happily and two Wreckers stared him optics wide and most likely gaping behind their battle masks. It was a funny record.

A proverb may state that the butler did it, but this time it was a spy: Taser met a black-striped minicon, a spy on loan. The minicon was different from Endgame's mechs, he was bad tempered and paranoid and he made Taser very happy. Soon Taser noticed that the minicon, Silicon, was slightly more relaxed in his presence, but he also had the oddest expression in his optics at times. He soon stopped asking Taser to do anything for him. He asked him questions about what he thought about his life and the war in general. From some reason Taser's answers seemed to offend him.  
"Have you thought what not being happy would be like," the con asked him before he left on mission again. And Taser began to wonder what was it like to not be happy or even be unhappy? The thought was as abstract to him as wondering what being dead was like and it made him happy, just like everything else.

Being happy all the time didn't make thinking outright impossible, it only removed most of the motivations to bother with it. And though he had no real reference frame because pity was beyond his capability range, when he thought hard about it all, he thought through that Silicon maybe pitied him because he was like he was. That made him happy too and when Silicon came back from his mission he initiated interfacing with the blue and black mech. It was the first time he had initiated interfacing and even though his pleasure centers were overstimulated all the time it made him even more happy than usual. They interfaced four times before the infiltrator had to go to yet another mission. He never returned.

And it made Taser happy.

He didn't want to be happy. It was different kind of happiness now, it made him a little scared. Being scared made him happy too and that scared him even more and so he really begun to think through the haziness of overwhelming happy. Eventually he came to the conclusion that because he would be happy anyway he could also be happy betraying Endgame. This private vertigo made him happy and he was beginning to entertain happy thought about how happy committing suicide would make him for it was the same, too.

But in the end he was more than that, better survivor. Instead he managed to find a neutral mercenary that also made dubious business deals. He kept trying to disturb Taser with violent innuendoes, but he would probably have been beyond caring even without his programming. Embezzlement proved to be a very easy crime to commit; Taser was a communications officer and comfortable with his happy glockenspiel soldiers Endgame wasn't the most vigilant commander there was.

"I can get a hacker program that'll get past your firewalls and encryption like an anti-gestalt missile," he promised Taser. And Taser was glad. He was happy when the mech didn't come back soon, too. The mercenary didn't return for a long time and eventually Taser started to think that maybe he was dead too. He laughed when the thought crossed his mind and the remembering the probably broken promise made him happy. But when the mech came back again it felt even better, almost like interfacing with Silicon had felt, it flared up and danced like millions wavelenghts inside him.  
"Here," the mech said, and drew him aside, into a warehouse that was waiting to be deconstructed, "and here is the program." He waved a fairly unimpressive looking case in his gigantic hand.

Changing his programming wasn't as difficult as Taser had thought it might be once they got inside his defenses. He wasn't sure the mercenary could be trusted, he had a feeling that his non-stop delighted laughing was starting to irritate the big, rusty red mech and that made him laugh even more. This went on until the mech gave up and off-lined him.

When Taser on-lined again he wasn't happy.

He wasn't lost in bright golden haze anymore, there were other things he'd never felt before, and he was furious like pit.

He was furious, brokensparked, violated, annoyed, bitter, paranoid and multitude of other negative responses. People had been taking advantage of him for vorns, starting from his dearest commander, and now he cared. The thoroughly fragged, pit-spawn, junkbuilt, slag sucking – he shouted swearwords until he ran out of them, which was terribly irritating, Silicon was never coming back and it hurt so much there weren't words for it. His vocal processors were starting to send error reports. It was starting to rain outside and he would get muddy. He wanted to die, but even more he wanted to kill. The mercenary was watching him with worry and it sparked a new series of emotion spikes through Taser's processor like hot needles through spark chamber.

Taser glowered at him and the mech glowered back, his right arm transformed into a missile launcher.  
"All right now?" the mech asked warily the launcher whirring almost affectionally. That little question was the last maneuver that blew the gasket.  
"No, not really" Taser said in all honesty, "but I think it'll get better at some point." He didn't need to raise his hand to kill the mech. Now that Taser could think easily he was pretty sure that he was a dangerous mech in a dangerous set of programming. It didn't make him happy, no, but it did give him previously unknown sardonic kind of contentment.

When he returned to Antimony's keep Taser killed Endgame. He made himself available during the next deca-cycle until the heavily overloaded commander commanded him to interface with him like so many times before. Taser smiled and complied, robbed Endgame of every bit of data he had and then slit his main energon cable open with an electric shock and watched him die, licking the energon from his fingers teasingly.

"Getting to kill part of the entertainment down, now on to the getting killed," he concluded as he wandered towards the shuttle bay. A fellow happy, this one a technician, smiled to him and he smiled back.

"Would you mind if I took one of these?" he asked, his handwave including the whole bay.

"Not at all," the technician answered happily. Taser outranked him and he couldn't come up with any curiousness. So Taser stole a shuttle and went through the intel logs before his passwords could be deleted. He was in search of Xantium.

And whether or not he killed the technician and whether or not it was mercy didn't matter, Endgame was dead as the piece of rock the keep had been built on, dead as Silicon.

He found the ship after nine deca-cycles. A shudder passed through his transformation cogs, as out of every possible moment he started to have second analyses then. For a short, treacherous moment a small voice, undoubtly a glitch that originated from the recent heavy reprogramming, started whispering if he really knew what he was doing, walking into the enemy's arms. He hadn't actually been unhappy… Yeah, he really hadn't been. He remembered and played the record where the two unknown Wreckers stared the giggling of the Decepticon about to die dumbfounded and he found he could relate to them. And about becoming a traitor? That was a joke and a half. You didn't have to be traitorous to be a Decepticon, but it certainly helped surviving.

Taser played idly with his joints and pulled up the needed files in his processor, waiting for the ship to reach the sensor range, then moved from the asteroid he had masked his presence with. He still had a significant distance to Xantium as he pulled up a list of classified communications frequencies. Endgame had sworn he'd never use them and keeping that promise had been criminal waste. He knew he would better start transmitting before the now speeding Autobot ship got to shooting range or he would be blasted for scrap in an astrosecond, so he pulled up the right frequency and activated it.

_Decepticon__ Taser hailing the Xantium,_ he sent. For exactly seventeen astroseconds the subspace was silent. The he received a reply.

_Any reason we shouldn'__t just blast you off the altitude?_

_I come bearing gifts. You can shoot me if you want, but let me transmit this first._ The exchange was over fast as sound, but it took time from the Wreckers to realise what he had given them.

Taser played the record again, knowing his probably-enemies would look at her like that too if they ever got a chance. Silicon could have laughed for him, as his laughter was misplaced perhaps forever. He didn't like thinking about Silicon, he had learned both to hurt and avoid hurting, but he could bear this one last time.

_Why you gave this to us. You have one breem to convince us this is a real thing,_ different signature demanded.

_It's because I have been happy and I have had it with the gig._ This comment was taken with the stunned silence it deserved. Taser found himself wondering if they were going to shoot him or not. If they were he would be dead and it would be over. If not he would have a new life. He really wasn't into protecting anybody in distress, but nobody would make him happy about it and wherever he was stationed he would get to kill people a lot. The thought didn't make him happy, exactly, but it did make him kind of content.

He was very surprised. Give it to me, fraggers, he thought amicably without a clue what it was he wanted.

* * *

Two stellar cycles later…

A slightly breathless voice called her name and Judy swung around, unsurprised as Ron Witwicky jogged to her. Ron had the coltish looks of someone whose arms and legs had decided to grow overnight and hadn't bothered telling the rest of the body first, but he still had an odd… well, grace was wrong word. Ease was perhaps the word.

"Nice to see you, Ron," she said, smiling. She'd told her friend about million times, or so it felt, that the jokes would never stop as long as he was best friends with a girl, but Ron continued to bound up to her and she couldn't help but be glad that he never listened to her telling him to go away.

He was the typical awkward boy, too skinny and un-cool to become a jock and too, well, interested in taking things apart and uninterested in school to pass as a nerd. She was the odd girl of the school, but the popular girls were too scared of her to be actually mean to her other than occasionally giggle when somebody said her whole name. No popular guy would ever made her his own Cinderella, like a girl had to appeal to a male chauvinist with ego the size of New York city to have self worth, if they knew what was good for them and the popular girls would keep their coming to their senses and manicured fingers off her friend if she had anything to say about the matter.

"Are you shopping too? Mom sent me out to get foodstuff for supper," Ron asked her. Judy made a face.

"No, mom's having another natural food gig and I'm not enlightened enough to be trusted to buy the right kind of sprouts and carrot juice. So I'm looking for some snacks." She supposed that eventually she would stop at MacDonald's.

She turned again and Ron fell into step beside her. Judy glanced at him and then turned and stared. The squint-eyed rat-sized cat that belonged to Ron looked peeked at Judy from his well-worn backpack.

"Why are you carrying VCR around? Don't you have harness for her?" she asked. Ron blinked at her.

"She likes being carried around better," he answered like it was obvious. She had thought it was ferrets that liked it, though maybe it was just more of her mother's propaganda, and said as much.

"VCR's special like that," Ron claimed proudly. He petted the little furball fondly and she wrenched her eyes away from the cute picture they presented, unwilling to argue the point.

"Can you hang tomorrow? There's this horror movie, I Was a Teenage Werewolf," she proposed. Ron shook his head regretfully.

"Sorry, I can't. My great-grandfather died in an asylum and we are going to the funeral tomorrow. He was about a hundred years old." Great-grandfather in an asylum. That was wicked cool, second only to a crazy aunt in an attic and Judy told Ron that much, making him give her a disbelieving look.

"How did he become crazy? Are you from a long line of deranged men or was it some trauma?" she asked.

"No insulting my lineage," Ron faked offence, "he went to the National Arctic Circle Expedition and his ship became frozen in the water. As the crew chipped the ship free he wandered off and became snowblind and insane. Then he spent the rest of his life in psychiatric hospitals, drawing strange symbols and ranting about some kind of Ice man."

"Wicked cool," Judy defended her opinion. Then she saw an ice cream vendor's stand and decided she would like ice cream better than hamburger, dragging Ron with her.

Something told her that something was coming to an end. There would be other summers, but there would never be one like this, never this specific summer again. Better make most of it, then. And maybe there was an alternative way to stop the jokes.

It was all a matter of being something easily categorized and socially acceptable.

The vendor looked up and smiled affably as they came near.

"Hello," the pudgy man said. "What can I get you?" Ron tried to decide between strawberry and chocolate and nodded to his friend.

"Why don't you go first?" he asked.

"Fudge Chocolate Strawberry Swirl with those crunchy bits. Oh, and those little chocolate chip things," she ordered and the vendor's eyes widened in a way that reminded Ron of comics. He half expected his jaw to drop too.

"You actually like that?" he teased, well used to Judy's oddities. She just nodded and practically inhaled her treat. The fact was that Ron always got a brain freeze from eating ice cream too fast and fact also was that he somehow tended to forget it whenever he started eating one, trying to keep up pace with whoever he was with. And he always wondered how he managed to forget the chillin g ache. Lucky Judy had never suffered from it, of course.

"What is it?" she looked at his face once and snickered.

"Arrrgh," grunted Ron mouth full of ice cream and as he waved his hand trying to make a point his cone fell slowly over, hitting half his other hand, half ground.

He still had little own money with him, but he wasn't sure he wanted to spend it on something he had been stupid enough to drop in the first place.

"And this is just my luck," Ron sighed and stared gloomily the empty cone in his hand.

"A brain freeze. And now you have ice cream all over your hand," stated Judy, the oracle of the obvious. But her voice sounded a little funny somehow. Judy was staring at his hand when Ron looked up. She gave him an admonishing look.

"This is all your fault for being such a klutz," she stated, swallowed the last of her own ice cream, reached out, and very calmly, naturally, raised his hand to her lips and licked the ice cream off with long swipes.

She had a very red tongue.

Ron's higher brain functions made nonsensical sounds and ran straight into a wall, trying to make some sense out of it. His best friend whom he had protected from big dogs when they were in kindergarten and who in turn had kicked Marc Jacques in the nuts in Junior High when he had tried to hit him. His partner-in-crime when they had played hooky and trespassed private property, their neighbour's pool to be exact, when the family was out of town. His practically-sister who dressed in funny, hippy clothes and had even funnier name than him, not that Garland was that funny in itself, but if you were also Judy you were bound to hear about red shoes and flying monkeys. The same Judy who had liberated the frogs from their biology classroom with him burning with righteous anger and had watched Kukla, Fran and Ollie with him. Judy's red, red tongue on his skin.

"I gotta go now," Judy said and waved to him, "but let's see the day after tomorrow. Bring me something from your crazy grandpa!" She walked off without looking back, though not particularly quickly. Ron just gaped after her. He thought he should probably say something to her or run after her, but now his brain was frozen in an entirely new way. Judy's tongue. His skin. System failure, Captain Kirk.

* * *

Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.

astrosecond 0.498 seconds

breem 8.3 minutes

cycle (IDW continuity) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)

mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours

deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks

stellar cycle (IDW) 7.5 months

vorn 83 years

AN: The happy programming was originally Tiamat's Child's invention. Be credited, it is simply devious.

I'm well aware that in the movie verse Judy was Taylor before marrying. Any Dorothy references I make are a prelude to a joke. At times I scare myself.

The year is 1967, by the way.


	3. Abducted by aliens sans medical experim

Abducted by aliens (sans medical experiments)

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.

* * *

Mars had possessed an absolutely horrible atmosphere and as irritating as Earth was, a mudball full of crawling organics, at least the winds were bearable. Initially Barricade had enjoyed the wide, open ground tinted rusty to soothe his mind, but it had soon begun to lose its attraction. It was off-liningly boring; there had been no one to kill and brawls between Brawl and the Constructicons and the cassettes climbing the walls and swinging from the rafters barely counted as anything more than annoyance. He had wanted to just siege the blue planet and ravage it till they found what they wanted: the reason of their perseverance, their hope beyond the horizon.

When he had seen the All Spark lauched into space, Barricade had realized that Cybertron would soon die. Bonecrusher had basically said good riddance and he could join it. He had not brought up the discussion again. It was about time they got to do something about the situation.

Starscream had been more than happy to take his sweet time, of course. The longer he delayed their attack, the longer he could hold the remote, with the utterly ridiculous loss of Megatron making the treacherous second-in-command leader by default, much to his enjoyment. Starscream couldn't seize power for himself if only because Soundwave and Blackout would have had his spark casing for it as long as there was a chance of their leader being retrievable. Research, he called his stalling technique. Barricade called it plain stalling, but he didn't really care. Long vorns of devastating war had pretty much rendered his original political ambitions trivial: as long as somebody got the All Spark and revived Cybertron he was all right with it.

And now a black and white police vehicle was parked in front of convenience store near the Tranquility precinct in bright sunlight. The Decepticon pilot was seemingly alone, but due to highly advanced communication technology physical presence had little relevance among Cybertronians when interacting and the one Barricade was conversing with was as hi-tech as they came.

_Isn't_ _sending whole Devastator overkill? We have already got Bonecrusher. We go in, get glasses, kill the squishy and get out. The Wreckers are in Austin for whatever reason_. Barricade was more worried than he would have cared to let their chief communications officer know, but Soundwave cared little about his preferences and breaks of privacy always made him a contrary spark of a gun.

_Information: outdated. New location of the Wreckers: Tranquilit__y. Need of firepower increased._ Even Soundwave's transmission was numb, efficiently impersonal.

Barricade didn't transmit the string of curses he knew Soundwave heard all the same. He wasn't a minicon by any means, but having to fight alongside the huge, even by their standards, gestalt that was mentally less than the sum of his parts against the crazy-aft Wreckers made death by being stepped on or some other embarrassing accident too likely.

_Requesting permissi__on to go out alone, before the Wreckers arrive. Remember, Frenzy's with me and if I get crashed to or stepped on…_ Maybe the spastic little fragger that had taken residence inside him could be of some use after all.

Onboard Nemesis, in solar orbit, in the dim light of the communications section the blue mech hesitated; an act very out of character from him. Soundwave was the personification of efficiency; consistently loyal to Megatron, one of the reasons Starscream had continued the search of their leader in fact, effortlessly ruthless and he usually had all the personality and personal preferences of a palm computer. But every rule had the exception and for Soundwave that was his cassettes. Enemy, Frenzy and Rumble, Buzzsaw, Garboil and Laserbeak, Howlback and Ravage all resided within him, performing spy and recon missions for him and he in turn cared for the little drones crawling around and making nuisance of themselves. For this mission he'd had to give the hacker to Barricade's care.

He reconsidered the odds. Shockwave was a massive triple-changer, transforming from his robot mode to either an artillery cannon or an assault helicopter. Scorponok's meaning of life seemed to be hunting and destroying all that moved and nobody knew whether he really was barely sentient at all, actually a cunning opponent getting his allies and enemies alike to underestimate him or simply mute and sociopath. Except Blackout and Soundwave, of course. They knew very well. Brawl had been Megatron's pet weapon of mass destruction for a reason and Blackout could keep their errant temporary command pointed to the right direction; the Wreckers. Bonecrusher was a loose cannon enough to worry about even without his more or less certifiable gestalt mates. He hated everyone and everything, Autobots, Decepticons, organics, even himself. Autobots hadn't found the human in possession of the map yet. Barricade knew where the human lived.

_Mission: retr__ieve the glasses. Back-up: Brawl and Bonecrusher. Shockwave, Blackout and Scorponok en route._ Starscream would do what Starscream did, as always.

* * *

Tranquility was well worth its name; the original small American town, one high school and endless rows of houses with white picket fence and pool, offices where fathers and more modern mothers worked at, a golf course and a parking lot and theatre where the young gathered. There were no minorities big enough to notice, no bar where everybody didn't know your parents and their dog and no good band would bother to play in the small football stadium. It was probably very healthy place to live if only because it was too boring to be anything but.

Judy was humming under her breath, leaning against a tree. Much too slowly; it really wasn't a good song for humming.

"No poisonous snakes can swim in my tub  
Only friendly dinosaurs can read my books  
I should have guessed that a woman like you  
Would be impressed with a guy like that." A sigh.

Judy had never decided if Ron was secretly a protestant, as he seemed to have the belief about idle hands being the devil's tools, or if he was just a little attention-deficit. Ron was apparently unable to just sit quietly. His hands had to have something to do, playing with his cassette player, playing with a pen or just fidgeting something with quick, restless tugs. It always drove Judy slightly crazy and now it took all the control she could muster to not hold them still for a second and demand he just talk. It was a hot summer day, the sort where the air seemed to be full of dust and it was too hot to be inside, but even hotter outside and they were sitting under a tree in her front yard. She didn't quite have the nerve to propose they go to buy ice cream. In hindsight the licking had probably been a bit much.

"It's so hot I can't even think," she complained without any real heat, the pun very much intended. She hoped it would already be evening, nice and cool and they could get inside a dark theatre where they could conveniently stare a screen. Movies gave a much distorted image of love, she decided. It was impatient, clumsy and deaf and stupid in addition of blind and changes were you didn't get to save each other or the world in the side, which was why she preferred horror. Maybe you wouldn't get to meet a werewolf either, but at least it wasn't false advertising.

"Love comes in with baby steps and much too big shoes," she thought out loud.

Ron was playing with a coin, flipping it in his fingers again and again until that made him drop it.

"Are you hot too?" she finally asked.

"It is 32 degrees Celsius and no wind at all," said Ron staring the coin. "I'm about to melt."

"Don't you like me?" was what she blurted out the next, to her mortification, but at least it got Ron to look at her. He had the panicked look of a rabbit in headlights in his eyes.

"No, I like you a lot and you might be, you know, kind of, well, but I never noticed before and what if I don't…" He was obviously trying his damnest to be nice without saying anything discriminating. His face wasn't anything out of ordinary, but he had those expressive eyes that remind Judy of a hundred and one things, like new leaves, her favourite shirt or lime marmalade candies.

"Let's go to the park. I want to swing," she said.

Ron agreed feeling a little stupid. He wasn't a chauvinist by any stretch of imagination, the fact that he was friends with Judy and still alive was proof enough of that. But still, he had always somehow expected that he would be the one to chase after a girl, not vice versa. If not for the incident that dare not speak its name he would have said that lusting after Judy would be purple and yellow mutant lizards level of wrong. Sadly the incident had happened and now one stupid part of him was taking notice that she was definitely a girl and a pretty one too. More than pretty, with curly red hair and beautiful hands. Ron had always liked beautiful hands, though his always was about a year and half long.

"I, uh, have something to you. You asked me to bring something from my great-grandfather, remember? Grandmother gave me these." He took the glasses from his pocket and handed them to Judy as they walked down the street. Judy turned them around in her hands appreciatively.

"They are kind of cool. These cracks are like purposefully made," she said.

"I think they are. And I found out about our family motto too, though it probably isn't much of a motto since is the first time I heard about it: No sacrifice, no victory." He felt blood rushing to his face when Judy said:

"You Witwickys are odd, but I like it." Though Judy really wasn't one to talk and he let her know.

"Nice weather this side of the yellow brick road," he said mildly and Judy snorted, stifling further laughter.

"Point taken." And they were silent and Ron was pretty sure Judy kept looking him from the corner of her eye. Their steps suddenly sounded very loud.

He had once read about the new women. He hadn't previously been aware there were old women in the meaning the magazine had used the words, but Judy was definitely brand new, practically born yesterday.

Judy tried the glasses on and the world bended in her eyes, turning dim and twisted around the edges and Ron began to feel ill at ease somehow. His hands twitched and he had to grab the hem of his tee shirt to keep from snagging the glasses back, suddenly irrationally and absolutely sure that he hadn't made his friend a favour. He had the irritating feeling he got when he dreamed of something nice and remembered it in the morning, but later the day could only recall glimpses and echoes, a place or quality of light or a single sentence with no context. He tried but the feeling slipped away leaving only a vague (clash of metal/haste/far away/ice) in its wake. He tried to follow the conversation, but couldn't recall how they had gotten from the funeral to everything being closed on Sundays.

Judy hoped that there was somewhere they could go to other than just loitering around before the movie began, but they really didn't need third or fourth wheels then and since Ron was just as embarrassed by his father's total ignorance about pop culture and conviction that the Beulah show was the best it had to offer as she was by her mother's eccentric worldview their respective houses were a no-go too. It went with the territory, of course. When the children were sixteen the nature of parents was to embarrass them by merely existing and the nature of children to switch the side of the street if their parents attempted to speak to them in public. Still, it was inconvenient. Luckily she wasn't one to turn tail and run easily.

"Today is supposed to be perfect and life altering to me," she exclaimed. Ron smirked up at her.

"Why? Have you consulted a foreteller about it?" He asked amused, shedding the odd sense of foreboding. Judy gave a brief chuckle and put a hand on her hip.

"No quite," she answered, "my horoscope told as much."

"Horoscope?" Ron asked, remembering the magazine he had seen once on her desk that her mother subscribed to, named New Aquarian Age. He had been under the impression that his friend hadn't believed in the articles preaching about Atlantis, UFOs and how nuclear energy was the tool of the ultimate evil, but maybe zodiac was a different thing.

"You actually believe in those?" he asked half disbelievingly.

"Believe in it? Horoscopes are the only trustworthy compass in this horrible teenage maze full of lies and hormones." Her eyes were laughing, her voice was serious like an open grave and Ron was definitely suffering from mixed signals.

"I am Aries and my best love match is Libra; a gentleman who is sometimes polite to a fault, but he reveals a surprising inner strength. The chemistry is strong between you two," she recited out loud with a smile.

"Might you be a Libra?" He knew that she knew his birthday.

"Judy," said Ron, "look over here." Judy turned and found Ron's face mere inches away from her own. It would have been counterproductive to object when her best-friend-come-love-interest closed the distance.

Ron was more than little scared, but he had to do it, no matter what. Because he might not be the primary mover in the whatever it was, but he was going to at least initiate the first kiss, dammit. Eventually they got to the swings.

* * *

This was not the kind of mission Wreckers were usually given, leaning more towards reconnaissance than good old-fashioned destruction, but what was riding on it was enormous enough to make the strike force withhold any and all complaints. The team had left Xantium to the moon's dark side where she was ready for a quick rescue and getaway should it come down to it; Wreckers didn't retreat gracefully or preferably at all, but this was no time to take unnecessary risks. Their mission was a covert operation with their back-up waiting behind the red gas planet, switching into local alt modes and interacting among the dominant species as subtly as possible and fighting Starscream's troops as covertly as possible as they attempted to find their goal: lifebringer All Spark.

Their lifebringer made warbringer and Megatron needed to be shoved into a trash compactor CPU first.

In the incomplete cover of the nightfall, seven vehicles that, with the exception of Sandstorm and Scoop, looked only a little like they were built on earth came to a halt on a hill near a tiny neighbourhood full of tiny, exotic contructions. They used some definitely non-earthly equipment to scan the house and the DNA structural data of the organics inside.

"The two squishies are mature members of the species, but they have the right coding. Their sparkling was given the glasses as a memento or something," Scoop, as an orange front payloader, said.

"I hope it really was that one. The last time didn't go well," Springer commented. He had chosen to use his car form rather than the helicopter, not that it looked that much less suspicious up close. The payloader responded with an irritated screech.

"Not like anyone's going to believe that one. No one sane believes in sentient life from outer space here," he defended himself. Though for people who didn't they surely came up with lots of neat, funny fantasies, the one named The Day the Earth Stood Still had been his favourite.

Earth was rich with natural resources, but despite that human technology was surprisingly primitive which probably had to do with their ridiculously short lifespan. Their vehicles, cars, helicopters and such, were suitable for transformation, but very crude, potentially dangerous and energy inefficient. Even then the type of car was apparently seen as a status symbol among humans, the larger and faster the car the greater status achieved, especially among males. Some humans, mostly women and psychologists, claimed that those with large cars were compensating for size deficiency. As far as the Wreckers were concerned they needed it. And their weapons were a joke if anything.

They all stood there considering the situation.

"Assessment?" Springer asked a little dryly. Broadside hummed deep in his cooling system.

"Since the Decepticons have been on the planet for several cycles and on Mars at least three deca-cycles they most likely have at least rudimentary knowledge of the terrain and the civilisation. They tend to not be too bright, though. Wouldn't put it past them to have sent half of their troops to a wrong continent." Snickering followed the comment.

An engine revved impatiently.

"Are we going to go in or not? We have already been beating around the formations enough, the subtle way takes far too much time, it's useless," Sandstorm complained. "Don't tell me we are going to waste more time coddling this human?" Less than a half hour's driving and one measly wall were all that was between them and the glasses now. Well, and the fact the human wasn't home and neither were the glasses.

"We are trying to not alarm the whole settlement," Springer said one gently, reminding his team about the need of secrecy in their situation. His team responded with blank looks.

"I do agree with you, though, " he admitted then, "the roundabout way gained us nothing in Austin, if anything it made us loose our head start and besides, there really isn't a subtle way to do what we have to do. Thus a more direct approach is in order." This time all engines revved with anticipation.

"So let's go stalking. Extra cube to the one that gets to him first!" Whirl issued a challenge he knew would be irresistible, letting his rotors spin only to have the cubish vehicle next to him bump into him reprovingly.

Topspin gave an impatient shift of tires and how he thought his air skiff alt form was supposed to camouflage him Sandstorm didn't know.

"Just don't hurt him, you guys, software installations aside I don't have the hardware to treat organics," he reminded them. The rest of them looked as surprised as beings without faces could look.

"Hurt him? It's not like he has pledged himself to the decepticreeps, is it?" Twin Twist, also a master of no disguise as twin-drill tank, asked sounding actually a little wistful.

"Just remember that the organics are fragile. Picking them up with too much force could kill them." The Wreckers made a variety of voices that displayed disgust. Bone and flesh were obviously products of poor planning.

"Prime's orders were clear in this regard, med. No harming the natives so no damage will come to the human at our hands," Springer explained patiently. Not that he was outright happy with their plan B, but time was ticking away breem by breem and…

"And it's either us or the Decepticons, they cannot be far behind us now," Roadbuster, armed to the teeth that he lacked in his jeep mode, beat him to it.

"And remember Vertiga. Let's keep the collateral damage to minimum or they'll give us more vacation," Topspin's voice rumbled when he said the hated v-word and there was a silence as each processed this statement. Springer snorted mentally. Whatever had Prime thought, ordering them to be subtle? There wasn't an alt mode available on the planet that could suit Twin Twist and the map in the glasses was in too crowded area for them to stay hidden if chips went down and they had to start fighting. These beings had just enough long range communication capabilities to start a mass panic.

May the Primus bless them, because nothing less was going to suffice.

* * *

Cybertronians knew music too, but it was different from human music. It conveyed mathematic formulas and multi-dimensional puzzles and its purpose was to stimulate the logic functions. It wasn't composed to be aesthetically pleasing and it certainly couldn't tell tales.

The All Spark knew how to make use of local resources.

Walter Simmons froze between one step and the other as his cell phone began to play music it shouldn't have been capable of playing, mere seconds ago it had lacked the necessary components. Clear, joyous children's voices sang:

_The lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown  
The lion beat the unicorn all around the town.  
Some gave them white bread, and some gave them brown;  
Some gave them plum cake and drummed them out of town._

Simmons grabbed the phone from his pocket and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a loud clank and lower ranking agents flinched when he drew his gun and shot the offending piece of equipment. All transformations had been violent and surely technology that originated from the N.B.A.s would be doubly more susceptible.

_Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly,  
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy; _

The threat in that was obvious. He had not served in the military, but Walter Simmons was regarded as powerful and a rather scary all the same. It was said that he knew where most of the skeletons of the secret sector were buried and how they had ended up as skeletons in the first place. Even then he was apparently incapable of intimidating the cube and its demonic gadgets.

"Take that away and vaporize it," he ordered his men and walked out of the room without sparing All Spark one glance. His men hastened to do his bidding. Their ears were open, but they did not hear.

* * *

A song from early childhood was playing again and again in Ron's mind, or what little he could remember of it. It could have been on one of his fairy tale cassettes, but he was almost sure it was his mother's voice singing to him. It probably should have comforted him, but it did nothing but when he tasted the words in his mouth, little unaccustomed.

"'Oh no, no,' said the little Fly, 'to ask me is in vain,  
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again.'"

I Was a Teenage Werewolf was over and Ron cut across the backyards, deep in his thoughts. It wasn't that he didn't like Judy or that he found Judy unattractive, because now that he thought about it she was hot. The problem was that he had agreed to do this kind-of-dating thing without knowing whether they really could make it and he didn't want to loose Judy's friendship if they couldn't. They had known since forever and nobody stayed with their first love and how could he have messed it up like this? He really didn't want to loose Judy. A gentle rushing sound came from behind him, at first unnoticeable, but it persisted until it was like a fly hovering just beside his ear. The sound registered, but when Ron turned there was nothing.

When people are searching for something, or someone, they instinctively look under things and around things, but looking up doesn't come as naturally. The gentle, rhythmic sound drew steadily closer, but Ron couldn't tell which direction it really came from; it seemed to be all around him somehow and curl tighter around him too. His cell phone began to vibrate in his backpack and he wondered if it had somehow made the odd sound, but he didn't even have the time to get the backpack open the whole way before he heard a loud crash behind him.

He almost had the time to turn his head around before a shining white, too big shape materialised out of nowhere and tossed him into a nearby fence.

For the most fleeting moment before fear settled in he was only perplexed. Thoughts like _what can be this big_ and _but I'm sure it didn't come from above _crashed through his mind and then he drew in air and screamed, so shocked he couldn't see straight.

Then something big and angular was pressed against his lower face, cutting off his breath and something primitive and shivering at the edges of his thinking hijacked his body without warning, making him go very still. Sickening pain was shooting up his arm from his fingers and Ron was pretty sure that he had at least sprained something, maybe even broken. And that was the least of his worries, because what little he could make sense of the thing was that he was staring eye-to-something-bright with some kind of nightmare creature, trapped under a set of large metal shapes that probably made a hand or paw or hell, maybe even tentacles for all he knew. It was hard to say anything about its colour in the vanishing light, but it was definitely massive. The thing said something in series of clicks, nasal sounds and some very high and low screams that teased the limits of his sense of hearing and vibrated through him, hinting that there were some Ron couldn't hear. And thankfully the thing lifted the quasi-finger, letting him breathe.

His phone kept vibrating and Ron gave it a desperate glance. So close and so useless. Then the vibration changed somehow and he felt the tremors against his skin, smelt heavy, bitter smoke and saw blue sparks crackling against his retinas, leaving ghosts after them. He was lost. He did not know where he was, but he knew it didn't feel like the backyard. It didn't feel like ground or the fence he had been thrown against: it didn't feel like anything and he had no idea what he was standing on or even if he was actually falling. He didn't know if it was dark, or white-bright so he couldn't see and his mind was starting to hurt trying to understand. Then he realized he wasn't alone in the nowhere. A cubic shape materialized near him and apparently flew to him.

Rather than alarm him, the vague shadow that approached him calmed him down. It reminded him of his childhood, somehow.

"I know you, don't I?" And then he was back, a small helpless lifeform staring up to a big and hard one with lots of black innards shielded by plates of whiteness. For a second he thought he heard the roaring of an engine and rotors, but there was nothing he could see.

Anyone on the road that evening would have turned their head to stare at the flashy yet hardly identifiable sportscar and the angular air skiff above it. They advanced through traffic within ground speed limits, but relentlessly, like sharing a common goal. What that purpose was, none could guess, and the populace was left to stare after the pair of vehicles in wonder.

Springer was certain he seemed outwardly focused on this mission, refusing to let his guard down even this near the regaining of the senator on the board, the object that both players were trying to reach, but which couldn't protect itself, their all holy All Spark. Inwardly, however, he allowed himself a few moments lost in his thoughts. The war had been costly to the Autobots in both resources and people and things had gone especially sour after the fight of Tyger Pax. They had managed to force Megatron to call retreat, but not before it had been almost too late. The young field scout, Bumblebee, had shown remarkable bravery when faced with the intimidating sight of Megatron himself, and paid for it in voice. The broken shrieks as he'd been retrieved from the hands of the Decepticons still echoed through the Wrecker's memory banks. And all that bravery had been almost for nothing, merely playing time. Megatron had somehow found the All Spark's trajectory anyway and then mystically disappeared.

_Anything to report?_ he sent through a secure channel.

"Energon is mine!" Whirl exclaimed in a triumphant tone, keeping the human pinned to the wooden fence underneath him, careful to not press too hard. He had seen it with the relation of this one, of course, but these organics truly were tiny up close.

_Caught the sparklet_, he said and sent a set of coordinates to his comrades.

_How is he?_ Topspin demanded to know. Whirl gave a glance to the little thing's hand. It had made a crushy sound, but it seemed still functional.

_Just a little banged up_, he sent back and then answered to Topspin's accusations: _Nothing serious. Just get here, I detected at least two set of con jamming waves in the vicinity and having him will hinder me. _Luckily the human didn't try to scream any more. Actually he went curiously still and when Whirl scanned him briefly he notices suddenly slowed down heart rate, dilated pupils and the activity in his brains increasing. For an uncomfortable moment he thought he hadn't been careful enough in his handling after all, but then the limp limbs twitched and the bodily functions returned to normal. Just to be on the safe side he picked the sparklet, Witwicky, up and placed him on his palm. No danger of crushing him or letting him escape there.

The thing's, robot's, attention had turned back to him and Ron flinched as it picked him up. The dark, primitive corner was slowly beginning to loose its hold of him, but the odd calm still somewhat persisted. What it had been, he wondered.

"Are you Ronald Witwicky, great-grandson of Archibald Amundsen Witwicky?" The robot's voice implied it was more like asking for affirmative rather than asking a question and that Ron would better be the one it was searching for or else.

"Yes, I am," Ron managed to whisper, his voice weak and shaky. Then someone else entirely seemed to take over it.

"Do you mind explaining what you are and how is this possible? And I don't know what you know about humans, but breathing is good for staying alive," he babbled tightly in the robot's grasp, for a robot it was, with a growing panic, but unable to silence himself. The robot opened its palm lifting some pressure from his chest so he could breathe more easily, but it also lifted its hand high above the ground.

As fast as the panic had struck him it was replaced by a nice, comforting realization that it couldn't be true. Though he maybe had a reason to worry about being crazy since the hand on his chest felt very real. Panic, peace, denial, he teetered on the edge. He really didn't want to die.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked, again before thinking. The alien's optics narrowed, and he leaned, towering over him.

"No," it simply said and Ron found his mouth curving to smile, much to his surprise. He was afraid, so afraid he wasted to scream and beg and only the even greater fear of getting his breath restricted again kept him from doing so, but he dared to believe in the thing now. And, he wondered, how could it be?

If he wasn't going to shriek his lungs off due to the risk of being dropped he could as well ask the million questions he had in mind.

"So do you have a name? Where are you from, Japan? And what do you want with me?" His voice quavered more than he would have liked, but he got the last part out too. The robot gave what sounded like an amused snort than a growl, if robot noises meant the same things human noises did. At least his captor hadn't threatened him yet.

"Autobot Whirl, from Wreckers subgroup. We are definitely not from your diminutive island country." But the rest of the robot's answer was lost to him as he heard another loud thump and was suddenly sure there were more of them. The robot's, Whirl's, head immediately snapped to the left, and he followed its gaze almost scared enough to close his eyes tight, like he had as a child when he had been scared of the snake under his bed. Obviously his night was just getting better and better.

A black and definitely pointy figure loomed a decreasing distance away, full of sharp edges and glowing red eyes gave its face a demonic tint. All of a sudden his captor looked downright safe and sane.

"That is going to kill me, isn't it?" Because while judging people by their looks might be shallow, there was no way to misjudge that thing.

"I'm going to kill it," the… Whirl promised with a grim tone and his cannon whirred to a life. The black robot shriek-growled to the giant holding him, incomprehensible words punctuated with loud crackling as a bolt of red light shot from its weapon. Ron could hear something explode beyond his range of vision, could feel the heat that sent bits and pieces of something hard and stony raining down and pelting his skin. He heard screaming, but when he turned his head to look it was only, thank God, a hole in the road.

"You are captured now. Or maybe kidnapped or shanghaied; I'm not down with the details of your language yet. I hope you won't mind." Whirl's voice was almost friendly, as friendly as it could be when he was snarling at the attackers. Maybe Ron didn't have any idea what was going on, but he knew that it was a bad idea to argue with a heavily armoured giant robot that had him literally at its hands, especially since it was protecting him from even meaner robot.

"Not at all," he croaked.

Something huge, deformed and literally spiked shrieked overhead and launched and Ron's world spun and dimmed in his eyes as the giant holding him swirled and shot a round at the new threat. The ground shook with footsteps and then another explosion, the crashing steps bringing six, count them, six new huge figures to the now tiny looking backyard and the fight was on with ear-splitting crash of metal upon metal and a jolt rocked the robot's frame, rattling Ron's teeth and sending a flash of pain from his fingers up his arm. Ron's gaze darted from building to building, wondering what the inhabitants thought of this racket and then realizing that if even one of these robots fell on one it could kill dozen's of people. Or if one of the blasts was aimed just a little off. This is war, he thought heart thrumming like it was trying to beat its way off his chest and maybe he screamed.

Slightly sickening metallic noises, squeals and then a scream, awful and pained and Ron really hoped it was one of the badder guys screaming.

The robot, Whirl, made a sound cross between growl and static laugh.

"Well, if this isn't the most fun since we kicked Seeker aft seven ways from Kalis to sun and stole their stash of high-grade," it said. Ron tried to tighten his hold on the flat palm of Whirl as its grip upon him loosened. He had just enough time to think he was going to get sick when Whirl lifted him up to something, maybe a balcony, that was sticking from the wall of a nearby building.

"Don't run or I'll be seriously fragged. I'm transforming and then you hop inside," it demanded nonsensically.

Ron looked at the robots running around, the fight spreading out uncontrolled. Whirl seemed to fall down, turn inside out and compact at the same time, his plating moving and turning and twisting with loud noise until Ron was looking at a helicopter. Just one more bizarre occurrence. Then the helicopter rose to his level and the door opened for him on its own. Maybe it was the safest thing to do, it was hard to think with the pain flashing from his fingers.

Ronald Witwicky jumped in, hoping that after fifty years or so he could say he didn't regret it.

* * *

Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.

astrosecond 0.498 seconds

breem 8.3 minutes

cycle (IDW continuity) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)

mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours

deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks

stellar cycle (IDW)7.5 months

vorn 83 years

AN: Taser will reappear eventually, but he is not a Wrecker. And what with the Wreckers' less than delicate approach, they are the Wreckers. I imagine that Optimus Prime will be mighty angry when he hears. My Devastator is the Constructicons gestalt and the movie Devastator goes by the name Brawl. Brawl was "Devastator" in the film, but Brawl in the toyline and all other supporting media.

And now, a cell phone related explanation. In this AU the government didn't pay all expenses. Sector 7 had to fund part of its (very high) expenditure by making marketable applications of what they could learn from Megatron's equipments that were found scattered around him (this will be relevant later.) Most of those are way too high tech for them to understand yet, but communication and cryo technology have made leaps.

The song is Places by Scruffy the Cat. I don't own it, either. Yes, I know it isn't really that old. The poems are The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt and The Lion and the Unicorn, a nursery rhyme by someone unknown to me. Don't own.


	4. A lot to explain

A lot to explain

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.

The humans insipidly believed that it was the cold that bound his system, like he had been one of them ground-pounding vehicles. There was no cold short of absolute zero cold that could harm him whose another form was that of a space craft. The cold vastness of space was his to conquer and it was merely the solid material encrusted over him that made it impossible to gain the necessary momentum to break through, little ice shards like fine blades inside him, teasing his most delicate circuits and main energon lines with promise of serious damage and death should he move. He wouldn't have admitted it, but he felt violated.

It was a loop from pit, until he could raise his internal temperatures enough to melt them he was to stay immobile and he couldn't raise his temperature as long as he was encased in the miserable substance.

White and transparent blue were the colors of recharge and death. He had to recharge, of course, but through some benevolent or probably malevolent miracle he wasn't in a stasis though no other systems but his secondary sensors and chronometer remained active anymore. Two vorns and counting, he thought one day that was no different from the one before. He wasn't patient by spark as Starscream could certainly testify, but when there was no choice he could bid his time, waiting for the perfect opening. All Spark radiated so teasingly, like the rays of a star warming his sensory nodes even through the ice so temptingly close and still so slagging far away enough. He had expected to be found, of course, by who had been in Primus' hands.

It had been a cruel joke. Even his one-time brother would have been better than crawling, ground-bound little maggots with delusions of grandeur. He swore the cube would become his now that he practically shared quarters with it, the littlest consolation. He knew the promise wasn't in his power to keep should the squishies decide otherwise.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't, Megatron knew all of that and he sent his own coordinates and those of All Spark for anyone to find hoping that it wasn't an Autobot, or even worse, his treacherous Starscream that found the trail to him first. He probably should have known to expect the animal whose sight he had so blithely taken to tattle, but he was still somewhat surprised and more than little furious when they returned for him stellar cycles later, unleashing their crude science and assumptions on him like he was some organic animal or primitive ruins, so pathetically curious. He had never been helpless and he didn't dare to thought about it too much now, dwelling in memories instead even if they were bitter.

"Megatron," Prime had called him as an equal. He had not responded, but then Optimus hadn't needed him to. Once he had known well how to listen to Megatron's silences just as well as his charismatic speeches, and then Megatron had been listening to him more often than not. The city below them had been high and beautiful and alive and desirable.

The one who wants to light must bear burning, he had once told him. Burning doesn't have to hurt, that had been Optimus' answer, totally illogical. They tended to differ in philosophical arguments, but they always had fun. Where does All Spark come from? If you were the only one of your kind and therefor had no comparison, would you know you were sentient? Further, All Spark is one of a kind. Don't you think it truly might be sentient?

"What is it that the Lord High Protector protects All Spark from? We have lived in peace our whole existence," his counterpart had asked. The question had made him smile and he had touched his brother like he had been the cube itself, reverently but sure of his welcome.

"All Spark and the Prime both. Isn't it fascinating that you are the first one to ask that from me? Times have changed since Sentinel Prime and Lord High Protector Ampere," Megatron had replied, regarding his Optimus from across the Prime's office for a long while. From the large windows behind the desk he could see the Senate Hall, full of petty, short-sighted and greedy individuals, clinging to the two people that actually mattered with all their might.

"I think I will hold my silence in this, but I do admit that you have made a point, my better half." They hadn't been young, but it felt like that now.

He had shut his pain receptors down ages ago. Red error messages danced across his vision until he thought he might go crazy and he swore he would kill every single human in the facility with his own hands, the undeserved honour that it was for them.

Once it had been so close, the newly founded cry technology of his diminutive captors failing them. But the ice hadn't melted enough and he stood there like a statue, biding his time. Maybe the puny creatures would eventually come to believe he was dead and melt him to try and scavenge him for spare parts, maybe an earthquake would free him, or war or just time. Though the possession of All Spark was closer to him than it had been since the beginning of the disagreement between him and Prime, he would not rest until this miserable world was but cooling block of cinder and he would take all that was his.

One way or any other brother, I will fight till you are numb.

* * *

_Interrogation of a civilian human: five easy stages._ Topspin stated amused

_This is not easy._ This was Springer, definitely not amused.

After driving the Decepticons away and reluctantly letting them go, to avoid further exposure, they had taken the human with them outside the settlement and thought that the hard part was over. The mistake in this soon became obvious. The human, Ronald Witwicky, had been injured, was obviously scared and didn't have the glasses with him. And despite being obviously terrified he flat-out refused to tell them where they were. It was important to remember that taking the human in as a prisoner of war was so far out of question it wasn't even located in the same solar system; he was an underage civilian of a neutral species so the situation was already teetering on the edge of abduction, which wouldn't please their supreme commander at all. Should the male just ask to be let go it would become outright abduction. And just where were the glasses?

So, stage one would be gaining the trust of the human by answering all the questions they could without compromising their security and treating the damage Whirl had unintentionally caused, all this while somehow keeping the human from making the damning request. Springer thanked Primus Whirl had at least introduced them all to the human; that made them marginally less threatening.

_What can we do about his hand? Topspin?_ he sent a query.

_There is tissue damage__ commonly known as Grade II sprain in two of his fingers, but the supporting structure was not broken._ _The swelling from a sprain will occur soon after the injury but the bruising may not show until some time later, or may even not show at all. Bruising can appear some distance from the affected joint as blood from the damaged tissues seeps out along the muscles and other structures around the joint, before coming close to the skin. Immediate treatment of a sprain should follow RICE therapy. This stands for: Rest - stop the activity that caused the injury and rest the injured joint. Two days (48 hours) of rest is recommended. Ice - apply an ice pack to the area for between 10-30 minutes. The ice must not touch the skin directly as this may cause a cold burn, so place a towel over the injured part first. Compression - compress or bandage the injured site, to limit swelling and movement that could damage it further. Elevation - raise the injured area to an elevated but comfortable height, above heart height wherever practical, to reduce swelling, especially at night. Gravity helps reduce swelling by draining away excess fluid. The symptoms from most Grade I or II sprains improve after a few days and the pain eases. However, the pain may take several weeks to disappear completely, especially when you use the injured joint. If necessary, you can relieve the pain with a pain-receptor disabler such as paracetamol or ibuprofen. Whirl, you have the processing power of a vegetable._

_Well, at least the ice is easy to produce. Sandstorm, go search for water supply, sterilize and freeze some. Whirl, you get to search for pain-receptor disablers and towels. Don't be seen._ Springer ordered, circulating air trough his ventilation system irritated. If only they could use code to switch off the human's pain receptors… But no. It had to be chemicals.

_It's not like I was trying to harm him! They are ridiculously fragile!_ Whirl protested as he went on his way.

Luckily the data transfer speed of 2.8 gigabits per astrosecond didn't give the human enough time to draw negative conclusions of the perceived silence.

Springer focused his optics to the human, Ronald Witwicky, who didn't flinch to his credit.

"I have sent Sandstorm and Whirl to procure pain-receptor disablers, towels and ice," he rumbled to him. Ron blinked, unsure what a proper response was. Thank you? I would rather you didn't do it in the first place, but I appreciate the effort? So he said nothing. The short flight and wait had been enough for him to fall into a daze and although he was too afraid to be comfortable the adrenalin had started to wear off leaving a more pervasive, lazier fear to set in behind it. It left him feeling numb and separated, somehow.

"I am aware that you are here somewhat against your will," the robot, Springer, continued. Now his eyes dimmed briefly. "I am sorry for that. Once we have gotten the glasses we will return you to your creators." That didn't make Ron happy at all and he thought he should maybe pretend it did, but he really didn't feel up to outwitting giant computers right then.

"I'm not telling," he insisted again, praying God he wouldn't get stepped on for it.

And the worries about him and Judy not lasting? He was defying giant war machines for her so it had to be true love. He just wished he would get a chance to tell her so.

Which hall had gotten them nowhere. Springer was ready to start reasoning again when Roadbuster intervened.

_He is protecting somebody,_ he told his leader calmly. It was obvious, plain and simple.

_What makes you think that?_ Springer asked desolated, more humans to get mixed into the mission was all they didn't need.

_The glasses aren't with him and they weren't in his house, but he hasn't denied owning them, which he would have done if we were mistaken again. It stands to reason he was given the glasses and then gave them to somebody he doesn't want us to know about._Maybe he hadn't been created as a people's person, but he could read enough to get a valid evaluation of any given situation. Roadbuster couldn't help admiring the human a little bit. He knew many Decepticon warriors that would have been hard pressed to talk when placed in so a hopeless situation. Of course cons also knew exactly how dangerous they were, the human was guessing.

So they would have to get the human to trust them with a life of a friend. That made it more difficult, but also reassured Springer somewhat. A mech, or human in this case, who was ready to risk his life to protect a friend would be easier to deal with once the trust was gained.

"If you have any questions feel free to ask. I can not guarantee answers, though," he told the little form huddled on the ground.

To say that Ron was getting desperate as time passed and the giant robots didn't show any signs of disappearing like a hallucination surely should, though it had been vain hope really, would be understatement. But they wanted to talk with him and that couldn't be a bad sign. At least not really bad, he hoped and let his gaze wander from the green and white leader to the very big and very bulky one he had seen transforming from a ridiculously big jet, another green one with black innards, and wasn't it creepy they were showing, to an orange one that waved to him friendly when he looked at him, a big blue one and slightly smaller one that was spikier than the others and had some kind of plates hiding half of his face. If it wasn't part of his face.

"What the hell?" he asked. It encompassed the whole situation nicely. The orange one laughed, the sound oddly lighthearted from something so mechanical.

"Were are Autobot Wreckers, the species term is Cybertronian. We are an war against Decepticons that want to steal the All Spark and use its power for their dastardly deeds," the leader started explaining. "All Spark is a cubicle artefact. We don't know where it comes from, but it has the power to create worlds and life. That's how our race was born. But now All Spark has gone missing. It's presumably here and your glasses have the coordinates." Ron's eyes remained uncomprehending as he tried to process what he had heard. He understood every single word, but the whole made little sense.

"You are after a mystic cube?" he clarified, wondering as the almost-remembered feeling returned with vengeance. He could imagine the cube somehow, big and bluish grey with interwoven symbols.

"Star Trek much?" he tried a weak joke.

Before they could ask he heard heavy steps drawing closer and while the robots around him didn't seem concerned he couldn't help his heart speeding up. The shape that materialized from the darkness was that of the orange car-robot Sandstorm, however, and he was holding a block of ice in his hand.

"There was a lake nearby," a mechanic voice informed them. It was hard to estimate the size of the block from the ground, but he was pretty sure it was at least half his size. When Sandstorm put it down it turned out to be only little shorter than him and much wider.

"Well, it's pretty much," he whispered. He didn't mean just the ice.

Now when he had the means to treat his fingers the ache felt suddenly unbearable and he pressed his back of his hand against the shiny, clear block, wincing slightly as his abused muscles were stretched and enjoying the cold against the heated skin.

"Do not," a firm voice commanded him and Ron yelped, drawing his hand back and looking startled at the blue Autobot that had given the order and then at the leader. Wasn't the ice meant for him? Or would he only receive treatment after talking?

"You must not touch the skin directly with the ice as this may cause a cold burn, so wait for Whirl to bring a towel to place over the injured part first," the blue robot, Autobot, admonished him. Ron gave the ice a longing look, but didn't dare to argue the point.

"So why are you at war?" he asked the question he knew no one on Earth could answer satisfactory, but mechanical aliens were different thing. At least in movies.

"Cybertron used to be ruled by a triumvirate of the Prime, Lord High Protector and the senate, whose power was the scantest. After Sentinel Prime and Lord High Protector Ampere had lead Cybertron to the Golden Age after more savage period, all of Cybertron lived in peace, under the joint leadership of the next leaders Optimus Prime and Megatron. Megatron used to be not too bad and Prime was fair, and it was good times. Economic and civil unrest because of the greed of senators like Decimus and Ratbat broke out the opening skirmishes of the Great War and Megatron showed his true colors. He tried to steal the All Spark, which was the Prime's responsibility, and raised an army, the Decepticons, who wanted the All Spark to give them the power to conquer other worlds.

"Prime raised his own army, the Autobots, to stop the traitor once and for all. The Autobots fought bravely, but Decepticons were the more ferocious warriors, except for us, and Megatron began to gain ground. The linchpin battle between the Autobots and Decepticons was at the city-state of Tyger Pax. We won the battle, but it was a close thing and if the cons had gotten All Spark it would have been lost. Prime had to send All Spark into deep space, Megatron pursued it and both were lost. Then the war became more of a search of All Spark, with the Decepticons, led by the vice leader Starscream, searching for both the cube and Megatron. And now it appears that both ended up in Earth and the coordinated to All Spark are in your glasses."

His great-grandfather had raved about an ice man that had blinded him, Ron remembered his father telling him. The tale was beginning to look nastily credible.

Visions of a huge, giant fleet darkening the sky begun to plague Ron's imagination and he could barely resist temptation to just look up, like the fleet was already upon them.

"Just how many of you there are?" he asked and again his voice did the quivering thing he had started to hate.

"There are more," Springer answered unhelpfully, "but not as many as you are probably thinking. There never was." Ron frowned, taking a cautious step closer to Springer.

"What do you mean?" he asked

"Everything is relative, especially numbers. How many humans habituate this world?" the Wrecker leader asked in turn, ignoring Ron's direct question. He had to thought before answering, it was hard to concentrate on school matters right then. Thank you, Miss Juniper, for drumming this into us, he thought.

"Little over three billion, I think," he replied.

"Over three billion," Springer repeated disbelieving, apparently he hadn't expected quite that many.

"My point, Ronald, is that Cybertronian numbers never got above one billion even during the Golden Age and the war has decimated our numbers. There is no Neutral camps left anymore and both Autobot and Decepticons factions consist of only about ten thousands mechs if we are lucky. We probably aren't."

Ron looked down and bit his lower lip, lost in his thought, but not lost enough to not be embarrassed by Springer's steady, studying gaze. It would still make one helluva fleet, or two helluva fleets about to blow each other to the kingdom come, but on a species terms it wasn't that much. It felt downright ridiculous to be worried of or feel pity for his captors, but suddenly he realised that by earthen terms they could be considered as members of endangered species. His mind made totally inappropriate comparison to fluffy pandas and he shook his head to clear it. These were very dangerous pandas.

"Why weren't there more of you?" Ron asked though it probably was an inappropriate question. Luckily Springer didn't seem to mind.

"The larger an organism is, the less room there is for a population. For example, there are more than exponentially more bacteria per hectare than there are humans. Since Cybertron is a smaller planet than Earth space used to be valuable resources." Not so much anymore, he didn't say. He didn't have to.

Telling it all had been painful, but Springer could practically feel the male teetering on the edge of telling them. He was apparently rather compassionate individual and wouldn't want to be responsible of denying them means to reproduce.

"And if we don't get the All Spark there isn't going to be any more of us either," he concluded and though the finer nuances of human expressions evaded him he could tell the little being was stricken.

_He talks now,_ Broadside sent with conviction and the very air felt electrified.

"If I said I gave them to someone," the human said the words very slowly, like he was still willing to take them back, "would you swear to not hurt that person?"

_Hit!_ Topspin cheered.

That was when Whirl returned, in his robot mode and holding five towels, five rolls of thin, white wound cloth and two non-descript bottled that were dwarfed tiny in his giant palm.

"Here comes the medic equipment," he grumbled, crouching down and lowering his hand down to the ground so Ron could grab the contents. Broadside couldn't help the gleeful grin, clicking the safety of his rifle loudly off and on again.

"Never a dull moment when you're a Wrecker, right?" he baited. Whirl was not amused.

"Shut the frag up and go glitch something!"

Humans, like most other organics and unlike Cybertronians, were covered from head to toe in tactile sensory organs. Their sharp sense of touch was something both useful, as a safety measure and just for fun, and detrimental and it had always fascinated Topspin. When they tried to work out the logistics of ice, towels and right amount of compression from the bandage it became obvious that with amateur help it was definitely detrimental.

Apparently Ronald Witwicky decided that it was the thought that counted.

* * *

In a big house in Mission City a light was on in a bedroom window. Reginald Simmons should have been in bed hours ago, but he had noticed that even if he got caught, if he was doing his experiments his father overrode any punishment his mother might dole out.

His current experiment was an old broken Bakelite radio on his work to, in the middle of batteries, curls and curls of wire and a homemade crystal set. Seven metal aeroplanes dangled slightly above his head, hanging from his ceiling on cotton cords. Reg had made them very carefully after painstaking preparing and research and he was very proud of the fact he could have built a little motors for them too if there had been space inside them. He was that kind of person and he wanted to become a mechanic some day. What he would get was another thing altogether, however. He was part of a long line of Simmonses who were head officers in Sector Seven. His great grandfather had pulled N.B.E.-1, the first-discovered giant robot from outer space, out of the ice, and his grandfather and father had prepared Sector Seven against the day that more N.B.E.s would arrive on Earth and so would he and his sons do from time till eternity. Amen.

Reg had high hopes for the radio this time. He had attached the colour-coded wires to the correct pins and screwed it all back together exactly according to the instructions in Practical Electronics For Boys: A Hundred And One Safe Experiments. He put down the screwdriver and plucked the radio into the socket. Then he put the socket on. The radio started working.

"Yeah!" he cheered himself on when a door was slammed open in the hallway.

At first Reg switched the radio back off, thinking his scream had woken his father, but when the steps that couldn't properly stomp in fluffy tartar slippers went down the stairs he switched it back on, knowing that Walter Simmons had once again been called to work in the middle of the night. The last time had been when they were switching the freezer to liquid nitrogen and there had been a period where they had nearly lost the cryo containment. The pipes had cracked freezing the monitoring system solid, no one in the facility had slept for days at a time and Reg's old nightmares had returned for few nights after he had heard.

Reg was pretty sure that a Simmons or no, he wasn't supposed to know things like that and at times he really wished his father would abide by the regulations.

* * *

Judy Garland's night had started normally enough, with her normal, everyday routines like shower and reading in bed before switching the light off. Dream eluded her that night, her mind returning go the movie that, while not exactly scary, had given her an excuse to hold Ron's hand. Which she had only done because she trusted Ron to understand it was an excuse. Eventually, just as she was slowly drifting to sleep with silly grin firmly in place something rapped at her window. It startled her a little, forcing her eyes open. There wasn't tree or anything in front of her window so she wondered what the noise might have been until she heard it again and realised that someone had thrown a tiny rock against it. So she jumped off her comfy, nice bed and parted the curtains. Ron stood outside in the dim light of a distant street light, waving at her.

They had exchanged little peck of a kiss when they parted ways that evening and Judy had thought Ron would need a lot more convincing before he would sneak to meet her after the curfew. Not that she was planning on letting him do anything except maybe kiss her again, but she was, for lack of a better term, impressed.

Hence she pushed the window open and smiled to him, pushing her hair behind her ears.

"Are you going to serenade to me?" she asked playfully, but for some reason Ron didn't seem embarrassed. Of course it was dark, so maybe she just didn't notice. It was a pity; embarrassing people was so much fun.

"Could you sneak out a bit? I have something important to show you and it's a little dangerous too," he asked with a voice so muted she had hard time hearing it. Really, he knew just what to say to get her interested.

"No touching below neck," she quipped before shutting the window and this time he was visibly embarrassed, much to her satisfaction.

Sneaking out of the house was a piece of cake; when her parents slept they were out like light. It was pretty warm night and the air smelt like dew and lot less like dust. Ron smiled to her little awkwardly and waved her to come to him with his left hand; he kept his right tightly against his left shoulder and when she came closer she saw white bandage wrapped around his middle and ring finger.

"What has happened to you!" she asked startled and reached towards the injury before snatching her hand off; no reason to paw already hurting hand.

"It was a bit of an accident. They are just really adamant about keeping this above my heart level. Follow me to the parking lot there, please. The thing I must show you is there." His voice was but a whisper.

The walk was short and silent before they reached the parking lot, empty except a single car and a payloader.

"I'm sorry I had to rouse you for this, but we are in a hurry," he explained apologetically. She waved it off.

"I'm having a positively good time," Judy interjected happily. "Just tell me who the rest of us is."

"Well, I'm glad one of us is," Ron muttered completely ignoring the question.

Then they heard the resonating purr of a strong, fast engine as the car started to move. Finally the orange car rolled slowly toward them and then past. The light was on inside so it was obvious that no driver sat in front of the wheel. Everything was empty.

"Good evening," came a smooth voice from somewhere the car's direction.

Sandstorm was just as impatient as he had been a cycle ago. Now he had been subtle and paid the obligatory attempt at politeness, time to get to the business. And he began his transformation sequence.

Judy was left to stare after it mouth gaping open. Not only had the car driven itself and talked to them, next it started to fall apart, turn inside out and plates of metal swirled wildly around in the dark like insect wings gone crazy_._ And then it, whatever it was, stood up. Like standing on very humanoid legs_._And now that giant, orange outside with black innards that were visible, like human organs and only slightly less disconcerting, metal thingwas standing just dozens of steps away and looking at her, its lower face covered by some kind of smooth plate. And she realised she was staring at a twenty-something-foot orange and black robot. She turned around so fast her feet sent dust and little stones flying.

"Ron! What is this!" she demanded, her voice breathy and shrill-like. Ron looked away guiltily.

"Uh, you aren't panicking, are you?" He sounded like he might.

It was a knee-jerk reaction.

"No, this is not me panicking! But if you don't tell me what's going on and why I'll show you some panic, mister_…_Why did that car turn into a robot? Does that payloader do the same? Why are they here and what they are?" She was panicking. Judy stood on her toes so her face was on the same level as his, clutching his shoulders with both hands and then letting go embarrassed. She was going to go batshit hysterical if he didn't answer her and she knew that if she did and Ron didn't she could never look him into eyes again, or into a mirror. Her good looks would suffer so, she thought, from the lack of a reflection when she did her make-up. Oh God, she was absurd and this night took the cake. The wedding cake with marzipan rose on top. Maybe she was crazy too, the glasses had to be cursed.

Then she thought: this would be utterly cool if we weren't going to get hurt, which was followed by an order to herself to stop watching Saturday morning cartoons with her pest of a little brother.

"Well…" Ron said trying to form a proper response, "they are Autobots, alien soldiers from outer space and they are just pretending to be vehicles. That orange payloader is a good guy. His name is Scoop." He turned them around, pointing toward the robot, "Sandstorm is a good guy too. If you see a green and white sports car, very big reddis robot that becomes either jet or an aircraft carrier, a green and red jeep with a big gun, a tank with two drills, a white and black helicopter that turns into a robot with skis as feet or a blue air skiff that looks like a brick with wings, they're good guys too. The black pointy one, a green pointy one and allother giant robots with red optics are guilty until proven otherwise." Introduction done, Ron paused for a breath, but Judy didn't seem very convinced. Her eyes happened to drop to his hand and narrowed into little slits

"And if they are supposed to be good guys just what happened to your hand?" She grabbed it from the wrist and lift it up, making Ron actually blush as he cast a side glance to his gigantic companions.

"Uh, it was an accident?" he tried. Judy snorted.

She just wasn't going to take any excuses, but better get the rest of it cleared first. They were still big and scary, but now she was angry and angry Judy had always been fearless Judy.

"So what are they fighting for and what has it got to do with us?" she demanded to know.

"They're fighting a war against Decepticons, who are hell bent on conquering the universe for all I know and right now we're caught in the middle because their mystical life-giving cube All Spark is lost somewhere on Earth and the glasses I gave you have the coordinates." His voice hasty, unsure.

"Oh…" And then the orange car-robot was right in front of them. It was simply ridiculous, but looking at the vehicles that seemed to twitch impatiently and craning her neck to look up at the black sky and millions of stars above her, Judy was almost willing to believe him, believe that they weren't alone.

"Is this a candid camera?" she asked. Ron shook his head slowly, his eyes were still a little wild, but they dropped back to the hand he kept pressed against his side and Judy had to agree.

"I see." Sensing that her boyfriend was still pretty distressed over that fact, Judy settled back to think. So her boyfriend knew robots from space. Robots from space that had hurt him and now wanted the gift he had given to her. She had never before given it much thought, but most vehicles were just pretty darn big when compared to humans and she couldn't help but wonder how big the rest of these would be when they stood up. She felt her anger ebbing away from her, giving space to fear again and shook her head viciously, then looked at Ron's bandaged hand and imagined what kind of crunch it must have made. It worked. She turned fully around to look right into the car's, Sandstorm's, headlights.

"So, mister alien. I'll go get the glasses for you, but on one condition. Take me to the one who hurt Ron. I want to exchange some words." She was fully prepared to argue that point the whole night, but the car shifted a little on its tires and said:

"Fine by me." It was hard to say where the voice came from.

_What are you thinking__?_ Scoop demanded his companion irritated. Sandstorm answered him with sliding his comm. sequence in a way that displayed amusement.

_I want to see Whirl besieged by the little thing?_

_You are hopeless._

Ron didn't care about the silence that might have been unnerving as he climbed into Sandstorm after Judy had sneaked inside and outside again. He was too busy wondering if anyone had ever been more proud of their best friend and if it was to be forever his fate to be outclassed.

* * *

Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.

astrosecond 0.498 seconds

breem 8.3 minutes

cycle (IDW continuity) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)

mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours

deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks

stellar cycle (IDW)7.5 months

vorn 83 years

AN: World population in 1967 was about 3,021,475,000, courtesy of Wikipedia.

I once read a fic about Megatron being awake inside the ice. I don't remember the name or the writer, but I was influenced. If someone can tell me I will credit better.


	5. When in doubt, blow things up

When in doubt, blow things up

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.

Insert a warning: slight spoilers from the Stormbringer issue (IDW).

* * *

There was a motley collection of big robots waiting there already. Judy stiffened almost against her will, ready to spring into action, as they approached and finally parked. Feeling like the Earth vs. the Flying Saucers theme wouldn't out of place then and there, she hurriedly leaped out of Sandstorm's innards and walked towards the green and white one Ron had said was the leading mech, determined for this round to go for Earth.

"Were are Autobot Wreckers. I am Springer," Springer introduced himself. Judy gave him a glance and picked the glasses from her pocket.

"And these are what you want, right? You are welcome, but I'm going to exchange few words with the one named Whirl." She opened her fist, letting the glasses rest on her open palm and gave them a last, longing glance. They had been the first gift Ron had given her as a boyfriend. Well, technically it had been before the kiss, but the same day still counted. Springer carefully picked the glasses with two fingers.

"Go ahead," he said benevolently and Judy turned around and marched to the one Ron had named his captor, the one with skis-like feet, looking up to him and not liking it one bit.

"So. You are the one that threw Ron against the fence." She didn't know all that had happened, Ron had only gotten to the part where the black and spiky one, a Decepticon, had appeared since Sandstorm had exceeded all speed limits ever invented, but she could puzzle out the finer details later.

"Are you going to mutilate any other hapless humans?" she launched into her attack.

_Springer,_ Whirl complained bemused.

_Humo__ur her,_ was the entirely unsympathetic answer.

At first there wasn't any answer and Ron was almost sympathetic, he had known Judy almost all his life, after all. But not quite enough to not enjoy it.

"Not like I did it purposefully," said Whirl sullenly. "I just pushed him a bit."

"Good to hear." Judy really wasn't giving in an inch and while Ron was frankly impressed he was starting to fear Judy might piss the robots, no, mechs off little too much. They were still fricking huge.

"…Maybe it was little careless," was the amendment. And Judy snapped.

"That's one way to put it! Your reasons to come here and who is to blame aside, don't you have any basic rules about first contact or even manners? Even a vegetable should understand that when the size difference is this big you must be careful! Pushing around people who barely reach your ankles just for the hell of it isn't just careless, it's sociopathy!" She had to pause for a breath, but she never stopped glaring. Whirl started to speak, but he barely got a word out before Judy overrode him with more scathing words. And since they hadn't gotten stepped on yet they probably weren't going to.

"I'm right here, Judy," Ron said, sounding almost amused, but Judy promptly ignored him.

Twin Twist was gleefully recording the pretty one-sided conversation to use as blackmail material should the need arise, the audiovisio of the tiny female cowing very bewildered Whirl with the sheer attitude she emitted was just too hilarious for words.

_Don't even think of it,_ he received from his very frustrated mech-in-arms.

_You wish,_ was his answer.

Where is the Decepticon attack when you need one, Whirl asked from himself, wondering if he could somehow swat the human away without damaging it. This time they hadn't even detected the jamming waves and the fist clue that something was wrong was the green and deformed shrieking overhead and launching and he spun and shot a round at the first wave of he second attack. Then crashing steps brought the other four Constructicons to the small field near the small road and the fight was well and truly on, thank to war-honed reflexes.

_Primus__ bless the Prime, and pass on the ammo,_ he laughed.

They had done planning on how to draw out the cons and get them to an area where there wouldn't be danger of causing much property damage, let alone loss of bystanders who would surely happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It hadn't been a simple task given how full the continent had been built and how ignorant the people were, and now it as redundant as well.

"Keep the fight cramped here, climb on their plating, only let it go up! Whirl, transform and take the humans inside you! Sandstorm, take Barricade, Topspin, take Brawl! Everybody, keep the Constructicons from going gestalt!" Which they should have done before approaching, but Springer wasn't about to complain about stupid enemies.

"You got it, boss!" Sandstorm laughed, targeting locks already set on the interceptor. "We're going for the spark, Scoop!" In response the team orange basically launched a siege, blasting at anything that moved and wore purple all the while screaming:

"_Wreck and Rule!!_"

"More Decepticreeps coming!" Roadbuster called out, banking hard to intercept the incoming Decepticons. Whirl came in from the other side, humans tucked safely inside his cockpit, fisrt getting height and then diving aiming for the centre of the enemies and called out boldly:

"Brawl! So they managed to put you back together after Vertiga! Head on, ugly!" The Decepticon barked in a mix of wild laughter and grumbling annoyance.

"I'll tear you apart, Whirligig!" That was before shots from the left forced them both to alter their vectors.

"You are not taking him down, Whirl! Remember the humans!" Topspin shouted as he closed in to take his team mate's place.

First getting yelled at by a being that didn't indeed reach further than his ankle and now babysitting the same and its mate while others had fun. This was not his day.

"Yeah, right! Kiss my aft, glitches!" But he altered his course, away from the heat of the battle. The humans were screaming and moaning inside him, trying to keep from flying against walls as he spun and swirled to avoid blasts sent his direction.

"Roadbuster," Springer gracefully flipped around in the air, fighting the egomaniacal glory-hound Hook and Scrapper, "watch your right and centre! They're trying the Tagain Heights manoeuvre!" Not really that good a move in such limited battlespace, but nasty if you didn't see it coming in time.

"Got it covered!" Roadbuster shifted back into primary mode and pulled out two acid pellet grenades and tossed them against the two cons trying to trap him between the lake and the battle between Topspin and Brawl. There were two loud explosions and two screams and he couldn't help but grin at.

"Scatterprocessors! Wreckers always go to the field prepared!" he screamed viciously.

Springer had a hard time with Scrapper, but every blow he managed to land on the gestalt leader was satisfying. Never mind his melee capacity, Scrapper was still a total viruscase whose favorite artistic liberties with his constructions involved taking living Autobot prisoners and using them as raw materials. And leaving them alive. He spun again and shot a new round, managing to rip off part of the deep purple armor plating. He felt pain and heat in his left leg, but ignored it.

In this Wreckers and Decepticons were the same, fight was like energon for them, their food, intoxicating drink, even currency and spoils that went to the victor, their everything as long as they tangled and met the barrel of each other's guns. And they climbed into each other's plating.

Mixmaster and Longhaul tried to dodge Scoop and Twin Twist, but the blaze of fire forced them slowly back and he driller attacked heir feet viciously, damaging what he could planning to immobile them and effectively keeping them from Scrapper and Hook and from Bonecrusher and Scavenger that were fighting with and probably losing to Roadbuster and Broadside.

"The- these guys are in- insane!" Mixmaster screamed as Scoop did a jump bordering suicidal, dodging his alkaline bombs and then screamed as barrage of acid pellets hit him.

"Insane?" Scoop grumbled, now empty hand pellet launcher still smoking even as he activated his rifle cannon and fired it at the Constructicons.

"You are one to talk!" Twin Twist paused in his assault to reload and took slight damage from Longhaul's gun and then they collided again with fire and clash. And that was when Topspin saw an opening, only for an astrosecond, but it was enough to pull the trigger and his full-automated blaster riffle sent a full round to Brawl.

"If it works, it isn't insane, just crazy, slaggers!" Whirl put in his two bits from the sidelines. They angled and tangled and they ate the heat of the moment.

Topspin had left himself open too and Brawl had enough time too shoot at him. A pain white and hot like a sun gone nova shut down his fuel processing unit and his HUD went wild with error messages, but Brawl's scream was cut short and after funny staggering he fell down, class 3B damage, beyond economical repair and so fit only for spare parts. He so loved Decepticon protocols when they made cons eat each other, with side order of disgust he blocked the best he could. With the enemy beginning to scatter, Springer called out to his 'bots.

"All right, Wreckers! Time to sparebag these slag-spawned morons!" With a cry full of unholy glee that crumbled any reserves for the obviously losing Decepticons to persevere their failed ambush, the Wreckers fell on them yelling victoriously.

_Since when is this keeping a low profile?_ Whirl asked. The only reason no one had seen them here was because everyone had probably been too terrified approach the noises.

_You are just being a killjoy!_ Topspin announced, but his laugh was a bit pained. The same old problem, Whirl knew: who fixed the medic? He hoped it was nothing serious.

Inside Whirl Ron opened his eyes to see Judy looking out of the windows. He tried to sit up and a moan escaped his mouth when his muscles protested. He trembled, Judy trembled and he felt like he could never speak again, so hoarse his voice was from screaming and fear of death. He guessed they were both lucky they weren't hurt worse than some bruises, even though his fingers had started to protest more. They hadn't thrown up at least. He didn't think Whirl would have taken that too kindly.

"What slag means, exactly?" Judy asked with only slightly hitching voice and he had to stifle an amused snort that had the potential to bloom as full out hysterical laugh. Trust Judy to pay attention to alien swear words in the middle of a battle.

"It is vitreous mass left from the refining of metallic ores', a waste product, but useful for building roads, ballasting track, and of course, a good satisfying round of cursing," Whirl explained sounding vaguely amused.

"Ok, thank you for protecting us. All is forgiven, no offense, Ronnie," Judy amended. Ron just shrugged and gave the land below them a longing look. Then he realized that they were moving at rather good speed. Away from Tranquility.

"You got the glasses. Shouldn't you take us back now?" he inquired.

He was not going to throw up. It was over now and he had no reason to throw up and nobody had died, right? At least nobody theirs because Whirl hadn't screamed noooooo or anything and wasn't that mandatory if you had any heart at all? Not that they had in the physical sense and Ron nipped that train of thought to the bud.

Whirl hated this. It's not like Springer's reasons were bad. Now the humans were targets, identified by the Decepticons and because they had gotten them to the mess they should protect them. Also, sending humans in wherever the All Spark was would surely be a lot more covert than going there themselves, in all their higher-than-building and not-carbon-based glory. Still, it had been Springer's order so why their brave leader couldn't explain his reasoning.

"About that…" he begun and helplessly watched as the female's eyes narrowed.

"What about it?" she asked voice tight. The female were the deadliest of the species, no doubt about that.

* * *

_It is where__?_ Springer demanded.

* * *

Taser fuelled and recharged, off-lining himself for three breems to fully recover himself. Then he just leaned back in his berth and enjoyed the fact his counselling was now a thing of past despite Ratchets doubts about his processor stability. It was a new berth or at least new for him, recently requisitioned from Autobot HQ. There had been many empty berths lately. The infantry mech tipped his head back, thinking over the recent events in his head. It had been odd few stellar cycles, very odd.

The oddity had all begun when he had been brought to New Iacon, more of a station than a city, his weapons disabled and under many untrusting optics and target locks. The treatment had been pretty good in his opinion when a call from the Prime had come. He had been surprised to find that the biggest mech the in dock wanted to see his, a low-ranking defector's, case personally and alone, contrary to all prisoner and defector protocols. A wry smile tugged at Taser's mouth plates. The Autobot leader truly was the biggest mech in the station, well and truly huge. It had been an unwelcome surprise to walk into the newly established headquarters and meet the Prime. He didn't know how the Prime had folded himself down, but when the blue and red mech stood up to walk around his desk he seemed to unfold layer by layer forever; Taser himself was hopelessly dwarfed by comparison.

Optimus Prime was their Megatron and he hadn't known what to think.

He had actually flinched, doorpanels fluttering uncertainly, when the Prime came around his desk, expecting his new keeper to forget his strength and a squeal of metal at any moment as he took Taser's hand into his own. His both hands would have fit there without problems. However, Prime had been surprisingly gentle and conscious of his size.

"Taser. You have an appointment with our CMO Ratchet, but I wanted to meet you personally first," the Prime said, emotion Taser couldn't quite pin evident in his deep voice; years of not being able had damaged what empathy subroutines he'd had left after joining the Decepticons. He studied the mech before him; his build was stocky; if he had been built after the beginning of the war Taser would have called him warrior built, but now he didn't know what to think. His hands, while large, were also very dexterous, obviously capable of the most delicate of tasks. Wirespinning hands, he thought and felt detached kind of ill at ease. Making objective evaluations of his past wasn't a simple task, but he had been fairly sure that would be unpleasant now.

"I am Autobot supreme commander Optimus Prime. You have decided to defect and have offered us valuable intel." Straight to business, no beating around the bunker; Taser had decided that he liked the approach.

"Now your well-being is my responsibility," Prime had continued, "tell me honestly, are you as well as you let on?" Which wasn't that well either, Taser knew.

"No," he had answered, because he hadn't been and the Prime really seemed to want the truth, "but I'm already better than I was." Prime had nodded again, with a gentle dignity and quiet serenity rare in Taser' experience. Taser had thought about it and it was so strange to not have to fight to think, he just did like his fuel pump pumped energon through him. It was easy, now. He could think about where he wanted to go should they ever lax their guard around him enough and who he was and if he wanted to be this person.

"Do you accept my defection?" he had wanted to know. And he had burned a circuit.

Not by an accident. He had found out during his stay on Xantium that the error messages calmed his nerves and his self repair system fixed the circuits easily. The message blinked in his HUD hypnotizing, seducing without obstructing his view, pretty and transparent. Error, Error, Error. A part of him still longed oblivion, but a whole lot bigger part had decided that he wanted to live, thank you very much and so he hoped.

"Yes. I'll probably have to ask a lot of you, but I'll never dictate how you should think or feel. You can trust me," Optimus Prime had said.

He had answered with affirmative, but he hadn't back then.

_From: Optimus Prime (optimusprime.autobotnet)  
To: Jazz (doitwithstyle.autobotnet)  
Ratchet (cmoark.autobotnet)  
Ironhide (ironhide.autobotnet)  
Bumblebee (beescout.autobotnet)  
Taser (taser.autobot__net)  
Subject: mission briefing  
All recipients all asked to attend a briefing in my office immediately. Thank you._

The message interrupted his musing. Taser sent an acknowledgement as he stood up and left his quarters, relatively sure that this was the big it they had been hiding behind the gas planet for and more than little surprised that he was to be part of it. According to Autobots' defector treatment protocols all Decepticon defectors should have gone through a probationary period one vorn long during which their weapons were deactivated and a tracker was installed on their shells while they were integrated into their new faction under watchful optics. They were to only ever serve in battle positions during emergencies and they were never to be let near any of Autobot high command without an armed chaperone. It had been a long time since they had been able to abide by the protocol. Prime had broken the armed chaperone rule the day Taser had been brought to New Iacon and his weapons had been activated after the fist stellar cycle, but an operation this important was unheard of.

He stepped out of his quarters to almost collide with Jazz, who slowed his pace and dropped into roll with him. Taser smiled; he liked Jazz. The First Lieutenant was friendly and young, close to the age Taser could remember being. He could be intimidatingly deceptive for an Autobot and manipulate others for personal gain at times, and had a weakness for head games, but by Taser's standards they were mostly harmless and annoying at worst.

"Do you know why I'm in on this?" he asked from the smaller mech. Trying to out-subtle Jazz was a very futile task, he had learned. The First Lieutenant looked almost sorry when he answered:

"You are the one that's been buddies with Hailstorm before. The insight might be handy."

Taser halted his steps and replayed the words before he grinded his pede gears in frustration.

"The psycho is here?" he asked resigned. Endgame had loaned him to the infiltrator once, when he had set a trap in Nova Cronum for Calabi-Yau, crewed by Jetfire, Nosecone and Afterburner. Calabi-Yau had been just a science/survey space vessel, but Jetfire was high in Autobot hierarchy and would have been very useful source of information. Jazz shook his head returning Taser to the present.

"Starscream has summoned him. Who knows, maybe he'll be late or play hooky entirely. Isn't too fond of old Screamer, I have heard." But even Jazz didn't sound very convinced by his own words. Hailstorm hated Starscream all right, but he was a Decepticon through and through and no self-respecting Decepticon would let All Spark fall back into Autobot hands without fight.

"Remember the Thunderwing disaster?" he asked, grateful that by some blind luck he had managed to avoid both Thunderwing and the Wreckers on the planet's surface. Crazy people had crazy luck.

"Wasn't there, but we heard of it a long time. It was everyone versus Thunderwing and everyone was outnumbered, Wreckers and Meggy included. Hailstorm had something to do with it?"

The part the Decepticon infiltration unit had played had been rather small in the grand scheme of things, but he had seen enough of Hailstorm in work to become happily disturbed.

* * *

Many places in many worlds inspire the imagination, keeps of secrets and mystery. Some are natural places to hide in and hide things in; distant islands and far-away jungles, canyons and caves, but they are always places that are difficult to reach, full of the thrill of unknown and challenge. Other places are artificial, created by people through purposeful action or through a need for secrecy. Many examples of the latter existed on Earth. Some were famous like a place known as Area 51 every UFO enthusiastic's favourite wet dream. The secrets are best kept, however, when they are kept in dull places that thrill no one's imagination.Hoover Dam, also known as Boulder Dam, was a concrete arch-gravity dam in the Black Canyon of the Colorado River, on the border between the U.S. states of Arizona and Nevada. When it was completed in 1935 it was both the world's largest electric power producing facility and the world's largest concrete structure. The dam was named after Herbert Hoover, who played an instrumental role in its construction, first as Secretary of Commerce and then later as President of the United States. It was just the kind of place teachers liked to take their students for an educational school excursion.

Springer couldn't have been more pissed off. He knew about militaries and he knew what they would and would not give up. Curse them all to Pit and back in pieces.

The situation had quieted down for a while and they had collected into Boy Scout Canyon that split from the Black Canyon south of the Hoover Dam, all in their primary modes except for Whirl. Inside him the humans were out like light, knocked off when their adrenalin levels had returned to normal. Springer hissed at the pain running through his leg and offlined the sensors on the damaged area.

"Topspin, damage evaluation," he commanded, vocalizer hoarse and abused from all the yelling he'd been doing.

"Sandstorm, sitrep."

The Wreckers team was huddled over a map within the black, volcanic boulders and tried to avoid the river. It was uncomfortable fit, but blocked them for sight and the sun was rising already.

"I need my fuel processing unit replaced, this is only good for scrap metal. Isn' like we are going to stop for energon anytime soon, though. Won't influence my performance, my energy levels are high enough." Springer kept scanning him as Sandstorm went over the intelligence he'd gathered about the base at the coordinates, but the medic didn't seem about to collapse. Ratchet still wouldn't be happy.

"…and this here," Sandstorm pointed space within a long, wide underground constructions, "looks like their heavy duty fortifications, not that it's too much. They seem to be protecting this area," he pointed at the white space on the map the fortifications circled, "but couldn't get a good scan. Something's cloaking the area, disrupting all scans. Most likely it's the All Spark's radiation, but it's impossible to be sure."

"Lucky coincidence or smart enough to cover their afts, bad for us." Springer leaned forward, considering the layout of the base. Maybe it was just cultural differences, but he felt like they just weren't complete.

"Are you sure they only have one missile bunker?" he asked disbelieving. It was obviously an important base.

"Yes, positive. The white space is in the middle of the facility, there is no way they could use one from there. They may have ray cannons with mirrors, but their science shouldn't be that advanced and even if they did it can't be very many. Remember, these aren't all that advanced, technic-wise."

As far as Springer was concerned even one unaccounted-for line of defence was too many. Getting through by force would be no problem, but Optimus Prime's order had been to do no harm to the humans and merely wait for the Ark crew to arrive first unless Decepticons forced their hand by finding the All Spark first.

"Their forces?"

"Mostly ground-based forces, few jets." And now it was up to him to decide what to do with this all. Again he wished they had been given an infiltrator, preferably someone with photon disruptor, he thought picturing Mirage in his mind and then cut the train of thought. If wishes were ammunition the war would have been won already.

"I say we go in, take the All Spark and apologise later," Twin Twist proposed. Springer had to admit, if even to himself, that he was tempted. But no.

"I have informed Optimus Prime of the situation and he is on his way with a small team. But we have already been attacked twice and the chances of the cons founding out the coordinates grow the longer we remain here; I say our hand has been forced. Sandstorm, who is in charge of the base and has he any creations? Preferably the age of Ronald Witwicky?"

It was a far shot, but miraculously his scout answered that, yes, Walter Simmons had a sixteen-year-old son Reginald Simmons. They could make use of him and make use of Ronald to get to him.

"I still say we should just blow the slag up," Twin Twist grumbled to no one in particular.

"This is a complicated situation," Topspin admonished him cranky. Getting shot may have been normal to him, but that didn't mean he cared to learn take it gracefully.

"That's why," was Twin Twist's reply.

And inside Whirl Ron Witwicky dreamed.

He was standing or maybe floating somewhere high and watching a city high and futuristic, all crystal and silver filigree that lit the nigh with luminescent grace. Towers like high trees, bridges built into spiral shapes that seemed to deny the gravity and hundreds of thousands of lights that the very structure of the city broke like prisma, dyeing the air with rainbows. Only when spots began to dance in front of his eyes Ron realised that he had forgotten to breath.

"This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," he managed to whisper and gave his friend a grateful glance. Always before she had shown him so violent dreams.

"I remember it well. Crystal City was the most spectacular city on Cybertron," she answered wistfully. He saw little shapes moving around in the city and wished to go closer, to see how they looked before they armed themselves, fighting about their mother.

He heard ticking like a giant clock that mercilessly cut his time short. He felt like he should remember something or notice something, his friend. She was…

"This exists no more," his companion said, her voice sorrowful and what Ron saw were flat ground and sand. It looked like an entirely different scenery, but then something fast and bright flew over the large open field in front of them and the sand glittered like millions of diamonds, like the city had.

"Crystal City was built by the Constructicons and protected by a Guardian named Omega Supreme. But Constructicons followed Megatron and under his orders, they lured Omega Supreme away from the city with a story of a Decepticon attack nearby. He was reluctant to leave his post, but took the Constructicons at their word when they promised to protect the city. Once he was gone, they razed the it to the ground. They killed their own creation." The sorrow was like a big elephant sitting on his chest. Then there suddenly was one, grey and floppy-eared.

"And all Pit is going to be let loose there, too. I am sorry, but I need your help," the elephant said.

It might have been absurd bordering ridiculous, but Ron woke up in tears.

* * *

Neither Ron's nor Judy's parents noticed they were gone right away; Judy had already been safely in her bed and Ron's parents had been out that night. Oh, Caroline had checked Ron room all right, but Ron's habit of not making his bed had worked against them, the bundle of covers creating an illusion of her boy sleeping. Both Barclay and Caroline Witwicky were working people and during summer their son usually slept in for hours after they had left for work. Jonah Garland did long days too, and his wife Emilia had that day left early to prepare her best friend's baby's christening party that was to be held the next day to the neighbour city. Judy's brother noticed, but they had an understanding about that kind of things.

It wasn't that unusual that their children skipped the dinner either, as much as it irritated both set of parents. It was only after their curfew hat their parents began to worry. They called police, imagining their children in all kinds of dangerous situations.

They had no idea.

* * *

Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.

astrosecond 0.498 seconds

breem 8.3 minutes

cycle (IDW continuity) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)

mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours

deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks

stellar cycle (IDW) 7.5 months

vorn 83 years

AN: No, I didn't invent a mega-powerful OC, Thunderwing is a canon badaft from the Stormbringer issue. Now dead badaft. Don't bother looking for Hailstorm; he's all mine. Well, there is a Mini-Con named Hailstorm, but they are NOT the same person. I just didn't want to change the name when I realised it was already taken; I can't think of him as anything but Hailstorm.

The bit about Decepticon damage classes pays homage to someone. Again, I can't remember the writer or the title, but it was here on ffnet. This is getting bad, I'm not old enough to get dementia…

Sorry about killing Brawl off so soon, but I had to kill someone to make the fight realistic!

I don't know about either Sam's or Mikaela's Grandparent's names, hence I made them up.


	6. Plots are hatching

Plots are hatching

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.

* * *

Sometimes being rich was just useless. Sure Reg got all the cool toys when he was kid and electronics now, the latest trends to wear and lots of money to spend were nice, but Reginald Simmons was learning that money couldn't buy everything. It was the cliché of the century, but clichés were clichés for a reason and that was because it was the conclusion most people made. The material goods had gotten him some hot girl friends and all the cool guys had wanted to be his friends despite him not being the football player kind of type, but closer to, well, nerd. Smoking in secret had been his admission to the social pressure. But no one of his friends really understood him, his life just was cursed and pre-planned like it was, and the latest girl friend had decided that gifts and movies weren't enough for her. She'd chosen to date some lame-ass kid from the chess club instead.

Because Thomas was so deep. Oh, the utter humiliation. It wasn't like he was shallow as a puddle either, he just had to play it down a little to fit some the generic stereotypes to fit in.

He had liked Marcia Lane, his Macy. She was funnier to just talk with than most girls, she was pretty and had a quick wit. She had liked his model planes too. And now she had decided she liked Thomas Rye better. He hadn't wanted to believe it at first, but slowly he'd come to realize that it was true after all.

He taken up art last summer just because his father derided painters so often, calling them useless and pretentious. It had been all the rebellion he could handle at the time, that and smoking at the tender age of fifteen. He knew his friends were reluctantly awed and jealous for that bit of daring, but the truth was that it wasn't daring at all. It wasn't important. And the truth was that he had no say to his life in general.

His mother's voice carried from downstairs, but he didn't hear the words. He sighed and got up hoping she didn't have anything for him to do right then.

"What is it?" he shouted when he walked down. His mom peeked from the kitchen, white and pink apron tied around her.

"You have some friends asking you out; I gave them lemonade, they are waiting on the porch," she told him and he nodded, wondering if it was Sebastian and his little brothers or Mark and Stephen. Turned out it was neither and it was one awkward moment, trying to remember whether he should remember them from school, the tall boy that nursed his mother's glass between his hands and the red-haired girl, very pretty though not as pretty as Marcia, that had already drunk hers. He was pretty sure he had never known them so well it would warrant visiting him.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" he asked eventually. Awkward moment persisted.

"I'm Judy Garland, no Dorothy jokes please," the girl said and stood up taking his hand. Her handgrip was surprisingly strong and confident.

"He's my boyfriend Ron Witwicky. Come hang out with us," she continued without blinking. Reg stared at her and she stared back, her boyfriend looked embarrassed, but he finished his drink too and took both glasses, taking them inside the house.

"Why? I don't even know you," he asked, but it didn't seem to bother the odd girl.

"Just because," she answered and smiled. Reg was going to refuse, but suddenly the walk back upstairs felt like hiking up Mount Everest. He was down now and his legs felt so heavy and what could he do except stare the wall? Or do some more models Macy wouldn't bother to look anymore? He wanted to go out and these absurd people were already there so it would save the time and cost to phone his friends. And at least they didn't know about Marcia so there would be no friendly-except-not teasing.

"All right, I'm coming," he said and Judy's eyes widened. It looked like she was going to say something, but then Ron came back out and closed the door behind him and she snapped her mouth shut.

Oh hell, Judy thought. She had been sure this was ridiculous enough plan to not succeed, but apparently simple really worked the best. She gave Ron a helpless glance and started to guide their new acquaintance towards Sandstorm. What to do now?

"It was easier when the giant robots just demanded my great-grandfather's glasses," Ron whispered to her.

He was actually starting to feel ridiculous, not having anything to speak with his _new friends_ except weather and he wasn't going to fall that low, but just as Reg considered changing his mind the boy, Ron, turned towards the half house. It belonged to a noveau rich, as his mother said, telecommunication expert who had started building it and then ceased due to some rumoured tax difficulties, leaving it as the eyesore of the block. The neighbourhood association has tried to get the situation sorted out with the owner, without much luck.

"Lets go see if we can get inside. If they've got the pool in working order already we can trespass a bit," Judy proposed and it was like he was in a trance, Reg found himself following them as they climbed over the greyish picket fence to the front-yard that was full of brick piles, dirt piles and other harder identified heaps connected to constructing a building. The thrill of being somewhere he wasn't supposed to be was beginning to get to him and Reg grinned as they walked around the house to the back-yard.

There he saw a car. An undoubtly expensive, stylish orange sports car and he stood still.

"I think the owner is here," he whispered, though the car was luckily empty. His companions looked slightly unnerved, but didn't move away.

"There is a person who wants to see you," the boy said, "he's a friend of ours. Kind of." At this point Reg started to worry about kidnapping, maybe these kids were the kidnapper's children. Would they put his picture to a milk carton, Have You Seen This Boy?

"It's the car, Sandstorm. Sandstorm, this is Reginald Simmons, respectively," the oddest introduction left Judy's lips. And the car drove to them. There still wasn't anyone inside. He was beginning to feel like Alice who had fallen through a rabbit hole, nothing made any sense and his head was beginning to feel oddly light.

"It's nice to, uh, meet? You?" He only managed to say that much because the words were automatic; he didn't need to think about what they should be.

"He's also a giant transforming alien robot," the girl ended the introduction.

His nightmare, escaped from ice. Was his father dead? When it switched colours?

Reg was at a loss for words and the same moment the world spun promptly out of his control, and a last half formed thought (oh god it got away how what about father?) blissfully faded away into silent greyness and eventually into black.

"I think he fainted," Judy said looking at the boy lying in front of them and pitying him a little.

"Don't just stand there, we have to get him inside Sandstorm before somebody sees," Ron said and took a hold of the boy's chest, forgetting blissfully, Judy noticed, that they wanted to get caught before they had enough time to do something well and truly stupid like, say, infiltrate a secret army base. Ah, what the heck! She took his legs and Sandstorm opened his door.

"Thank you for not going into processor lock the first time," he said bemused. Judy snorted.

"The joy is all ours," she quipped. And then they got going.

Judy fiddled with the radio, trying to find good songs. She figured that since their chauffeur didn't complain he didn't really mind either.

She wears red feathers and a huly huly skirt  
She wears red feathers and a huly huly skirt  
She lives on just cocynuts and fish furrom the sea  
A rose in her hair a gleam in her eyes  
And love in her heart for me

"Rrright," grumbled Judy and switched the channel. The song was kind of a good joke, but she wasn't in the mood for hula hula girls. The next chords were more promising.

There in the night what a wonderful scene  
Mom was dancing with Dad to my record machine  
And while they danced, only one thing was wrong  
They were trying to waltz to a rock and roll song

This time she laughed and let the song go on, a-one, two and then rock, humming along.

"Mine so would do that." Then there was a pause.

"Mine are so going to ground me till I'm a legal adult," she groaned. Never mind the army, the Government and the Decepticons, her parents were scarier. Ron groaned on the driver's seat.

"I was trying to not think that," he told her and tried to look like he was paying attention to the road and Judy decided it was a very good thing it was Sandstorm who did the driving.

"And I hope no one pays any attention to us, because if they do they are going to call the police. There is no way in hell you can pass for an adult even if it's a passing glance," she said and Ron twitched.

"You," he said pointedly, "are a hex." She just clicked her tongue and shook her head in mock despair.

"What way that is to talk to your darling?"

Ron hadn't noticed that big difference to being just friends yet, they hadn't even kissed again. Then again, they had pretty much been in mortal danger the whole time, when they hadn't slept inside something that was basically, yuch, other person's body cavity even if it was pretty un-body cavity like what with the lack of disgusting body parts.

"Guess not," he said.

Sandstorm had a good time, listening to his passengers. He was common with the tactic they engaged, distracting themselves from their fears with teasing and banter. Necessity as it was it was also entertaining and he decided that Whirl just had no appreciation for comedy, the way he complained about carrying the humans around. Sandstorm got bored easily and in the lack of recreation capabilities in Xantium amused himself with fighting. For him, war might be no energon walk, but it was a pit of an adventure and so was Earth. He didn't understand why Springer was so grim, like they weren't about to deal a great blow to the enemy and wreck to their sparks' content while being at it.

Actually, the way the war was going energon walks were no energon walk so the metaphor had just gotten out of hand.

Judy's finger tapping his steering wheel distracted him from his musing.

"I just asked, have you ever been in love," the human female asked. The image of a certain spacey red jetformer flitted through his processor, but he shook it, frustrated as he always was when he remembered Flight, not knowing if the Aerialbot had survived the last few vorns.

"I do experience a software subroutine analogous to that neurochemical state. I can't empirically affirm that my programmed analogs of emotion exactly reproduce the human emotional states, but I admit to feelings that have many parallels with the kind you mean." Now they were giving him blank looks and Sandstorm congratulated himself for successfully using Topspin's favourite evasive tactic.

Confuse them enough and they won't press the matter.

When Reg woke up he was puzzled as to why he was lying flat on his back in the backseat of a car. A moving car too, he could hear the engine. He sat up slowly, looking around baffled before his gaze fastened to the odd pair that sat on the front seats, as the sun beat down through the window on his shoulders, warm and comforting. Then he remembered the giant robot that had been a car, and God, had it eaten him? A startled shout escaped his lips and the red-haired girl that had apparently claimed the shotgun turned around as much as the seat belt let her.

"Put your seat belt on," she told him. If it had been anything more difficult he couldn't have done it, but now his hands worked on automaton and fastened the belt. He flinched when he heard it click and wondered it if the monster would let him take it off at all.

The silence was oppressing, with the engine humming softly around him, and the muffled noise of other cars from the outside. Just when Reg was about to crack the boy began to talk.

"Uh, sorry about this, but we are kind of kidnapped ourselves. At least if you ask from our parents right now. But we have a real good reason for this." You needed a good reason to be kidnapped? Reg wanted to scream.

"Where are you taking me? Is this car a monster?" he screamed, pressing his back against the seat and it would have worked better if he could have gotten further from the monster car, but no! The boy, Ron Wickity or something, winced.

"He's an alien, but not a monster. Sandstorm isn't going to hurt you; he hasn't hurt us, either." But Reg wasn't about to buy that; he could see the white bandage on the hand that was gripping the steering wheel. Many nights' bad dreams rushed back to him like he'd been tackled during the PE. Ice cracking and bright lights, booming voices and trying to desperately run away… He whirled around panicked, or rather tried but the seat belt indeed held.

"You are lying," he accused, "I can see your hand!"

Ron cursed Whirl in his mind and so did Sandstorm. The Wrecker was pretty sure that this new boy would take the "it was an accident" explanation even worse than Judy had, though for different reasons. They were still trying to come up with something to say when Judy took the reins.

"It was a Decepticon, not an Autobot," she lied through her teeth, "and they might be very dangerous killing machines, but other than that they are really nice guys." The honest part didn't have the preferred effect as Reg Simmons seemed to try and curl inside himself, eyes huge like saucers. Ron, who by now had stopped even pretending he was driving and turned fully around, saw that he was actually shaking. No good.

"I don't think that helped, Judy. Sandstorm, now might be a good time to explain the war and the sides to him. And about the cube too."

And so he did.

* * *

By the time Officer Parker met Jonah and Emilia Garland, the noise had already alerted pretty much the whole precinct. He gave an amused look to his partner, Carson, who was trying to signal him to come and help him with the overzealous parents. No way in hell; he was enjoying the show too much. So he simply waved happily to him and smirked when Carson tried to stab him to death with a mere look.

"Mister Garland, would you mind keeping it…" the officer tried to calm the elderly man down. Mister Garland, a very dignified-looking man, gave Carson an unbelieving stare.

"Down? How can I keep it down when our little sugar cube has gone missing? Get off my back and go find our baby!"

Sugar cube? Laughing to parents' worry had always been very low in Parker's opinion, but if the parents' age was anything to go by the daughter, or heaven forbid, son had to be a teenager by now.

"I need that description one more time," poor Carson asked looking like a deer in the headlights.

"Again? She's sixteen years old, an adorable girl with cute, big eyes and cute red hair and she wears cute skirts and shirts with cute flowers in them and she's got adorable voice! She eats very healthy too! Our little gingerbread crumb! Got it?" the man demanded.

"I fear not," Carson mumbled. Yeah, Officer Parker decided, what with how the young were these days the adorable girl had probably run away. And while mocking the parents worry was still low he couldn't help thinking that just maybe the poor sugar cube had a good excuse.

"She's so adorable maybe somebody just walked off with her," Mrs Garland said with a voice that was almost calm.

"If something happens to her, I… I'll…" her voice faltered and pity and shame overcame Parker and he took a step forward to console the poor woman. Then she cracked her knuckles.

"I will make their miserable, cursed souls miserable for he rest of their lives!" she exclaimed and laughed and while she was probably, hopefully, just hysteric the sound of it stopped him mid-step. He was kind of scared and judging by Carson's face his partner felt the same, but at the same time he wondered. Some parents really cared that much for their children? He was almost jealous.

"Hey, Parker!" he heard someone yelling from the pen. "Come here! We have gotten another case."

* * *

The working environment was a far cry from good, but he could do with what he was given, Hailstorm decided tinkering with his holo projector. The kind of waves he needed it to stimulate were beyond its capabilities for the time being.

"You're actual-ly ki-kind of smiling," Mixmaster said.  
"What?" Hailstorm queried, looking up and looking confused.  
"You're smiling," Mixmaster repeated. They were in the temporal Base of Operations on the wastelands that humans called the Mojave Desert. They were also unhappy to be there. Granted, they hadn't had anything but bad luck and results thus far, but was Starscream really going to run the risk of the Wreckers getting the All Spark?  
"We can see you smiling. Don't bother to argue." Hook didn't even look up from his datapad as he delivered his statement, severely annoyed with Hail. Of course they could.  
"Why would I argue? Of course I'm smiling. It's been vorns since we have been on a mission together. We've gone through a lot together. And what comes to Starscream, if he tries to sabotage the retrieval of Lord Megatron we can always kill him." The icy blue cyclo craft's words were self-assured, his gaze serene.

Hailstorm wanted Megatron back; Starscream was the worst that had ever happened to the Decepticon cause, Optimus Prime counted. He wanted the traitorous Sub-Commander dead and he wanted the Autobots to have the All Spark.

Because if Decepticons got a hold of it the war would come to an end and without war he would be void, no personas needed to fill him. May the war go one till all is void rather than just him.

When he had been Siege he hadn't resembled his designation much, his personality shy and sweet. He'd had a lover too, one of the Autobot High Command. Rather than endure the cyclocraft's distraught expression, Welder had decided to let the air support mech help with some basic nursing during Sojourner's recuperation. To become Prisma he had switched shells, he had been small and graceful, but also razor-tongued. Once a teammate of his had made a list of "Crazy-Aft Things that Gadget has done" and nobody who knew him was surprised to find out that it was about half as long as the list of idiocy of the whole team. Shimmer, White Noise, a jet named Spectre.

"It's good," Scavenger said and reached over for one of Hailstorm's hands. Petting it; he was the self-confidence challenged one, not psychotic.

"I like it when you are happy." He was always so earnest.  
"I am at least content on a regular basis. You're acting like I am chronically depressed." There were vorns when that was who he was. On the other hand many of him weren't so it didn't count. Hook snorted. He was the arrogant one.

"It's got nothing to do with depression, you keep too much to yourself off-duty." Hailstorm was a glitched con, but they were a glitched lot and they dealt with it. They could deal with the spy-turned-lover. Hailstorm made an amused noise, a high-pitched whirr of his facial gears.

"You calling me introvert is like a seeker trine calling a solo crazy," he baited them. It would be either Scavenger or Longhaul.  
"We interact all the time," Scavenger took the bait lazily, still holding his hand, "we did make friends with you for example." It was truth that they were downright easy to get along with compared to the late Stunticons, may they rest in pieces.

"And then you made me a lover. I'm not sure I really count. Not that I'm complaining." This him was tactile and so he flirted, manufactured like he was because gestalts tended to be tactile.  
"We didn't know you since creation so you count." This was Longhaul.  
"If you say so. But would you mind letting me get this done before jumping my structure?" he asked Scavenger, whose caresses were growing more and more insistent.

"You all are trying to get me open my interface ports every time I enter the room. Or the corridor. Or the medbay." A slightly devious smile graced his mouth components.

Zenith had been moody and pessimistic, unrequitedly in love with his commanding officer and always in the medbay complaining from one kind of damage or the other, most of them imagined. There had been only two things that Trance would have rather run from, not that he had admitted it: that accursed con telepath Soundwave and a fragged-off Ratchet after a big battle. He had given up his wings to become him.

He was running calculations in his head, if he could get the gestalt to turn on Starscream when they were fighting for Megatron and All Spark he could neglect the holy cube in favour of their leader. Hopefully the Constructicons wouldn't be killed afterwards; gestalts were hard to come by.  
"Hey, you went after us first." This was Scavenger.  
"And I don't recall any of you complaining either."

Torch, Failsafe, medic trainee Polarity. And in the end, when it all returned to him, fire and death and Hailstorm. Always Hailstorm.

* * *

They had sent the gestalt to build them base a deca-cycle ago, but the place was still under construction and it would continue to be until they got more supplies to build the secondary level ready; even the Constructicons couldn't make anything out of thin air and sand. The base certainly wasn't big enough to comfortably house them all, but they'd had to retreat there to regroup and tempers were flaring.

Starscream was frustrated beyond words. The only way for him to keep the loyalty of the Decepticon army was to lead them to Megatron, but he would loose his position the moment they did find him. And Starscream had no delusions about his warlord being dead; Megatron was bigger than life, as much as he hated to admit looking up to him. You couldn't count people like Megatron dead until you crushed their spark, processor and vaporized the remains. Hailstorm had finally answered him, after deca-cycles of playing time. The Decepticon Air Commander knew that the infiltrator hated him with passion, but he also knew that Hailstorm wanted to frag this up and he needed somebody to take the blame for his machinations.

He had much to loose, but too much to gain to give this opportunity up. Megatron's cause was just, but Megatron himself was unpredictable with his favour and stubbornly capricious, next of line to chaos, complete opposite of the order he preached for. Starscream had eventually been able to earn this coveted position, but it had been fight all the way up: Megatron had never liked him, always preferring somebody else, forcing him to leave a trail of shells behind every step up.

The normal arrangement for the original Cybertronian army, the undivided Cybertronian army of the Golden Age, had been the Lord High Protector, the Air Commander as his sub-commander and two Minor Commanders under him, one of them Special Operations commander and then the lieutenantes. As devastating as this entire war was both sides had to improvise a lot in their officers.

Since the Autobots hadn' had any high ranked flying units at the beginning of the war so they had simply filled their Second-In-Command position, First Lieutenant, with their Special Ops commander.

Megatron's decision had been a little harder, one of his lieutenants pit bent on becoming the Second and the Decepticons, while had the upper hand in almost every other division of armament, had practically no infiltrators that could be spared from other, more important tasks (or medics, but that was inconsequential). Most of the Decepticon soldiers tended to lean toward the "when in doubt, blow it up" school of strategy and Megatron was content enough with the situation. While it left some subtler battle tactics out of the question if he wasn't sparkling-sitting his commanders it also ensured that most usurping attempt were about as sneaky as hammer to the head. Onslaught was one of the few exceptions, but he was a gestalt leader and so his judgement was seriously compromised, his OS placing the welfare of the gestalt above the common good, which, Starscream thought sardonically, was what Megatron wanted. Because if he didn't get what he wanted nobody was happy.

He was avoiding Soundwave like cosmic rust for now. The telepath had been Megatron's most trusted advisor, because the Decepticon leader hadn't trusted his second to advise him a route out of an empty energon cube without backstabbing him and then burying the cube just to be sure. Sadly Soundwave could be trusted; criminal waste of talent in Starscream's opinion.

"And why we should trust this source of information?" Barricade asked as Starscream entered their temporary command centre. He wasn't sure if he should count the black and spiky mech as an opponent, plain indifferent neutral or an ally. Barricade was complicated. He had never shown any indication of treachery or hint of doubt towards the Lord High Protector, whose Elite Guard member he was, but he certainly was a lot less of a nuisance than Soundwave or Blackout. He seemed to be pit bent to find the All Spark, not necessarily their leader.

"The Senate might not know, but somebody high up has to. Do you think they would want to pass up an opportunity like this?" he replied. "Frenzy can hack into the files easily enough if you just get him to the right building. We don't necessarily need the glasses and I refuse to follow the Autoscum blindly around this miserable mudball."

The one thing they had in common was the hatred towards the planet and its jumped-up primals. Barricade smiled and it wasn't a nice smile.

"Very well," Barricade noted with a grin. "Send coordinates of this White House." He turned to his back to the acting Supreme Commander and noted:

"Ah, one more thing. I just received a transmission from Hailstorm; he's delivered some information. It seems the Wreckers have three humans in tow." Starscream brightened his optics in surprise.

"One more? An unwise move," Starscream noted, "but how does he know? He's here!" And how he would love tearing the annoying cyclo-craft apart when he had fulfilled his role! He despised it when his subordinates hid capabilities from him.

Barricade didn't answer, shrugging slightly before exiting the room and Starscream spun around irritated, sending a query to Blackout.

_ETA 0.5 cycles,_ was the answer he received. At least something was going his way. Sending the pair to South Korea had been a mistake, especially since they could use Scorponok's hunting capabilities to follow the Wreckers. And, inexplicably, the drone unnerved the otherwise disgustingly serene Hailstorm.

That was when Soundwave hailed him.

Starscream told himself that the only reason he permitted the nosy telepath live was because he might be as loyal to him as to Megatron after Megatron was conveniently out of the way. Maybe. It was worth a shot.

_Explain yourself!_ he demanded, firewalls fortified. It as unlikely Soundwave could hack into him from Nemesis, but the clinic touch of the other's mind still made him touchy.

_Danger detected: The Ark advancing. Counsel required._ So careful wordplay, Soundwave was subordinate to him, but didn't like taking orders from him. Starscream cursed him, Optimus Prime and the elusive Wreckers to the Pit and then Megatron just for the good measure.

_Engage the enemy, but don't endanger Nemesis unnecessarily. If you can't win even against a relic like Ark, retreat, but make sure to win us at least time._ He broke the connection and fought the urge to bang his ead against some hard, flat surface.

Much to his own surprise he didn't hate Optimus Prime. He covered the unnerving lack of real eaction with fiery temper tantrums every time they came across, but the truth of the matter was that he kind of admired the way the mech with no military training had managed to organize and use to his advantage such a ragtag bunch of wannabe-soldiers. The real melee fighters among the Autobot ranks were rare, but they didn't do too bad, all things considered. Now this very ill-timed advance almost made him hate the opposing leader, along with the worry about Xantium, but not quite and he had never been the type to long for worthy opponents either. Unworthy opponents were much to his taste.

But as unnerving as the nothing personal –attitude of his was since he really couldn't afford to go soft in such a back-stabbing bunch of vile mechs as the Decepticons were, he had to concentrate to the elementary. The All Spark, the end and beginning of this all. It was all that mattered. He would rule Cybetron even if he was the only mech alive there.

* * *

It was half an hour and lengthy explanation later and Sandstorm was getting a little bored with the routine, to be honest. It didn't help that he had to abide by the speed limits: he didn't want the authorities paying any attention to him while the probably not co-operative young was with them.

The probably not co-operative young was beginning to realize that it just might pay to co-operate. Not out of fear, though he was still afraid because whatever the thing said about Autobots and Decepticong, they had only his word for it and it could be Autobot propaganda or outright lies for all he knew. Never trust anyone who has more fire power than a small Third World country. Not because he just waned to have this quickly over with, though that was true too. And certainly not because for a moment of very temporary insanity he had thought that just maybe Macy would like alien lifeforms better than chess. He was fairly sure that Macy would just faint too and then never talk to him again.

The realization had struck as he had just been about to demand them to let him out and he had closed his mouth quickly. Sector Seven had been founded to guard the Cube, All Spark, and the Mega Man, a Cybertronian, and protect Earth from the alien invasion.

With no cube, with no giant robot and this thing public, in the army's and Senate's hands, would there be need for Sector Seven? Or would he be free to live his life as he did?

He had never been one to make quick decisions about important things, or even less than important. He was the boy who in his seventh birthday pondered so long whether he wanted to start with cake or ice cream that when he decided to have ice cream it had already melted. He had gotten more decisive since, but still he liked to take his time with things that would have long-term consequences. But now he experienced a brief but fierce vertigo of mind, he realised that he had to make the decision now, no options, and the consequences could be devastating if he did the wrong thing and it exited him. Like he was his father, always sure and at least step ahead of everyone else.

"And what you want me to do about this?" he asked. He could always play the victim card if things went badly.

"Intel from the base and your help in getting Ron and Judy in. Also, some kind of guarantee you won't double-cross us." It was the cars voice and God it still unnerved him when it came from around him without clear source. He wanted so badly and he was going to have. So jump off the plane and pray your parachute works.

"If I help you the cube, All Spark, you will take it away, right," he said slowly.

Sandstorm had known it would come to this and he hated it. Because while the All Spark was rightfully theirs, the humans had possessed it four generation and the boy wasn't being unreasonable challenging them in this. Especially when it was his creator who was the leader of this branch of humans. But they would have what was theirs and if it took grossly threatening this little, helpless being he could do it.

"The All Spark is ours and denying us it would be parallel to denying your race your female gender and a very prominent part of your energy resources." But let's give the friendly persuasion one more try. When Reginald Simmons answered his voice was impatient, but also inexplicably amused.

"No, I meant that if I help you I don't have to ever see the cube or the robot in ice ever again?" Feeling his processor trip over itself at Reginald's question, Sandstorm answered with an affirmative. Then he thought abut it second time.

"What robot in ice? Tell me more." Because while the thought was too hilarious to be likely, mighty Megatron imprisoned by these puny humans, he had a bad feeling about this.

But the next one who talked wasn't Reginald.

"Was there one a city named Crystal City in Cybetron?" Ron asked with a quiet voice. It wasn't a sure thing, but considering the differences in Earth's and Cybertron's minerals it could translate… And maybe Sandstorm was never afraid, but he could be very unnerved.

* * *

Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.

astrosecond 0.498 seconds

breem 8.3 minutes

cycle (IDW continuity) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)

mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours

deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks

stellar cycle (IDW)7.5 months

vorn 83 years

AN: The songs are She Wears Red Feathers by Guy Mitchell and Rock And Roll Waltz by Kay Starr. Don't own at all. I felt I had to include something really that old since the last one was so anachronistic.

Yes, I did it! I ship Sandstorm and Fireflight too and I blame the usual culprit, ajremix.

By the way, I'm getting tired of writing how people panic when they see the Transformers the fist time. At least this time I didn't have to go through the "But they don't exist!" phase. Reg may seem a little meek here, but I figured that with a dominating father like his, he's still in his shadow. And about Judy's parents, I figured they had to have been an odd lot to have raised her so there.

South Korea was chosen instead of Quatar because of the time difference.

My Constructicons pay homage to Dreaming of Everything's Constructicons (since I'm not that sure of their characters).


	7. Bad literature

**Bad literature**

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.

Warning: Dirty limerick.

* * *

They were still in hiding, having found a cave that could shield two of then in their ground alt modes and a ledge that offered little cover from anyone who might decide to look down from above them. Except for Topspin and Roadbuster they were all in their alt modes because while a group of vehicles down in the canyon might seem suspicious no one here would know enough to suspect the right thing.

Topspin was walking Roadbuster through some first aid to his system, to seal all leaks that would lead to loosing energon and isolate all wires that might fry him if they came in touch with water. Field weldings would have to do until Ratchet arrived. Optimus Prime had sent an encrypted message to inform them about the back-up they were going to receive and the reactions varied.

"Ironhide is a good gun and Jazz has his uses as well, but Bumblebee is pretty inexperienced and Taser is plain bad choice." Whirl's voice was thoughtful as he assessed the Prime's companions' strengths and weaknesses in his mind.

"Bumblebee may be one of the youngest, but he proved in Tyger Pax that he can keep his CPU in a tight spot. We are the big guns, Prime decided to come to salvage the Autobot-human relations," Springer answered. Not that there were any yet, at least if Ronald and Judy didn't count.

He hadn't commented the part about Taser and Whirl called him on it readily.

"Taser shouldn't be trusted with this, at least. He has been good thus far, but then he hasn't had much chance to do any real harm," he voiced his distrust. The odd, moody con hadn't made good impression on him, despite the information he'd had about All Spark.

"It's not his loyalty I question, it's his stability. It's not been that long since his last self-abusive spell," Scoop stated. Coming actually face to face with somebody from his past just might send Taser over the edge again and they didn't need suicide-by-con in the middle of the battle for All Spark.

"Ratchet cleared him and he is a good medic," Topspin answered, "but I still don't like this." Because while becoming one of Endgame's happies was a reason to want to crush several cranial units, it hadn't likely grown any moral structure to the mech. And there hadn't been any from begin with, he had been a con.

"Decepticons don't just see the light! Who has ever heard of one single case?" he demanded. Springer made an annoying noise, but Whirl beat him to commenting.

"Pincer did, not that he was too bad from begin with. Just misled by his creator." There was a moment of silence during which they all tried to find a reference to Pincer from their databanks.

"He was a fictional character!" Roadbuster complained, the first to search from the right database.

Scoop let out a helpless, stuttering laugh, remembering the mostly low-quality Stormbringer epistle files that had been The Entertainment of the troops in Iacon.

An epistle was a writing directed or sent to a person or group of persons, usually an email and a very formal, often didactic and elegant one. During Golden Age epistles were written in strict accordance to formalized, Altihex tradition, especially the Guardian epistles. This reflected the amount of Altihex influence upon the epistle writers. Any deviancy was not the result of accident but indicates an unusual motive of the writer. After the war begun the new mission report style gained popularity. At the same time the general quality dropped, due to many eager amateur writers, but some could make true art out of the standard form: personnel, activity, location, unit, time and equipment. Inexplicably, Sunstreaker was one of them.

The epistles had been entertaining and Prowl had been clever enough to boost their popularity by making an attempt, that Jazz had predictably sabotaged, to forbid them. Officially because they were high spyware-risk files, all the while implying he thought they were bad influence. Which they hadn't been; encouraging of reckless behaviour aside, the tales had been morally very sound despite the open defiance of orders, disrespect of ranking officers and some shady military contractors included. No bad deed ever went unpunished, no good deed unrewarded in the end, not to mention it had been uplifting to read something where the Autobots won all the time.

"I think Pincer's pretty dull for an ex-con. His sweetspark Jink is a much better character," he mused, wondering whether he still had those tales in some chip.

"Well, the whole thing's pretty unrealistic. No Decepticon is going to defect just because they fall in love. People just like to read cross-faction romance," Broadside pointed out. He had thought that the obligatory interpersonal descriptions had just hindered the finer points of the reports, namely battles and tactics, but the common opinion hadn't agreed with him on this.

"Well, they were just side-blasts," Topspin said. "Stormbringer's the hero without fear. Not that I like him so much either. Woundweaver is the most interesting one," he named the eccentric, spastic lieutenant his favourite. He had mostly starred the incident reports leaning towards comedy.

"Wonder you didn't pick the medic," Roadbuster said and closed Topspin's plating again. He had done all he could for the mess of halfway melted processing tank and the cable and wire mesh. "Wavelength is the only interesting character anyway. He kicked aft like there was no tomorrow."

Springer shook his head half amused, half annoyed. As fun as reminiscing was, this was neither the time nor place.

"Getting back to the original topic, Ratchet says Taser's stable and Prime says he's trustworthy and that's good enough for me for now. On to the next topic: we need a diversion to distract the humans in the base from finding out about Ronald and Judy. They may be generally sympathetic, but I doubt they would fire their own people for our sake," he said little dryly, humming deep in his cooling system absentmindedly. The problem with that was, that they weren't working with professionals there and while distraction would draw part of forces – and the leader's attention – out of the dam base it would also tighten security.

And while they might get in unnoticed as the human's transport, there was no way they could move freely inside unnoticed. Out of all sentient species this one just had to be organic.

Irony was the art of putting together incompatible things, Roadbuster knew.

"If the ruse takes place far enough from here and seems to threaten some other installation they probably wouldn't raise the security levels here, but you realise, that our main problem is that we have to trust three amateurs to do the job for us?" Roadbuster pointed out. "Have you even wondered how they could carry the All Spark anywhere?" The Wreckers and their plan were oil, the humans were water and without something to break the polarity this wouldn't even make irony.

Topspin was a medic and medics were supposed to know what made mechs work, but also what made them not work, especially strike force medics. He groaned. To his defence he wasn't used to extending this knowledge to beings with so different limitations than theirs, but even then, it was embarrassing that it would take literature to give him the clue.

"I think I have an idea," he said slowly, "do you remember The Fort Scyk epistle?" It had been one of the lower quality ones, not because writer couldn't handle the style, but because he had blatantly ignored several scientific facts.

"Topspin, there is no gas that could knock out a Cybertronian, never mind the rumors about what the late Neutrals of Yuss tried. It was cosmic rust and it killed," Broadside said, giving him disbelieving stare. Topspin practically glowed.

"But we aren't dealing with Cybertronians here, are we? Humans have to breath and what they breath gets into their bloodstream and into their nerve system from there!" he exclaimed victoriously and while he might have thought, while bandaging Ronald's fingers, that whoever had designed human bodies should be hunted down, profoundly thanked for fascinating study and then shot for coming up with something so fragile, now he blessed it. He could feel the very air around them electrifying and it was like polarity breaking.

"So in the end we only need the leader's creation to get the gas inside and after that we can handle this how we like, as long as we erase the security footage. Can you create something that takes effect fast, but doesn't harm them overmuch?" Springer asked and Topspin grinned in response.

"Just ask how many concoctions. But I need somebody to go procure ingredients," he answered. They could have this done and over before Optimus Prime and his troops even arrived, which was good. It never hurt to reinforce the invincible public image.

This moment of triumph was when Sandstorm contacted them. The transmission was so highly encrypted it counted as not only caution, but as a tone. A figure of speech that spoke volumes of complications. Not that it was fully surprising: the most devastatingly oddball catastrophes always seemed to seek the Autobots out and Wreckers were no exception.

_I have good news and bad news,_ Sandstorm predictably started. What followed wasn't predictable.

At all.

* * *

Something was bugging Judy. Well, a whole lot of things bugged her, but this had come to her mind when they had stopped to buy lemonade and sandwiches to eat during the journey, much to Sandstorm's irritation, but he understood the necessity of fuelling. When Ron exited the department store carrying a brown paper baggage Judy cleared her throat.

"So, what do you use as money?" she asked. "Back on your Cybertron. I mean, you know what money is, right?" You could never be absolute sure about strange cultures, if some people had used seashells as money and they were human who knew what mechs did. But surely they had to do something to trade for food. Or fuel, rather.

"Energon," Sandstorm answered automatically, his attention elsewhere. Ron reached to the back seat to give Reg his chicken sandwitch and cola bottle. It was only then that he remembered they didn't have a bottle opener.

"Hey, do you have any sharp things inside you," he asked their chauffeur.

Sandstorm forced his thoughts away from the disturbingly familiar dream scenes Ron had described and turned his attention to inside.

"Many sharp things, as you call them. Why?" Ron then petitioned for opening their liquid containers and he transformed a shard of plating that would protect a small joint in his primary form, slightly amused, but much distracted. Ron had described battles like he had really seen them, a city long destroyed and he had a friend who was a mother to all those who fought. Mother whose face he couldn't remember…

Judy gave Sandstorm an odd look. She was a bright girl and while she didn't know much about Autobot physiology she had asked about the luminescent liquid Topspin had leaked and she had received an answer.

"Is that what Topspin was bleeding when Brawl shot at him?" she asked.

"That too." It was hard to tell without face, or any kind of non-verbal cues, to be seen and the voice so mechanical, but Judy was pretty sure that Sandstorm's mind was a million miles away then. She wondered whether she should worry about crashing, but then again this was the mech equivalent to running and when had she last run into anyone, even distracted? Surely super advanced robotic organisms had some self control. Ron managed to wrangle her bottle open and handed it to her.

"So, you use blood as money? Isn't that kind of creepy?" Sandstorm thought about it.

"Actually the closest equivalent humans have is food," he answered. Judy's eyes widened and a big, big grin tugged the corners of her mouth.

"So let me get this straight: monetary purposes aside, energon is both blood and food for you." Sandstorm somehow managed to give an impression that he gave her a blank look.

"Correct," he replied.

Judy then crossed her index fingers at Sandstorm and shouted at him:

"Vade retro, nosferatu!" For a small moment Sandstorm was deliciously silent, Ron and Reg snickered and Judy mentally squealed.

"What?"

An explanation that actually wrenched Sandstorm's mind away from the All Spark and Megatron followed, but now it was Ron who was distracted. He had often wished that his life was more interesting. He had read a lot since the day three letters had joined together in his mind and made CAT, and ever since he had lamented how boring it was to be an American teenager in Tranquility. He had never been a vampire fan, an attempt to read Dracula had been aborted by the letter and diary format before he had even gotten into Dracula's castle, but cowboys and Indians had been his favourites and compared to them reality was just plain dull. Except now it wasn't. This fact was coupled with a nagging sense that things were about to go utterly, horribly wrong. Not because of the Autobots, or the Decepticons, not even a secret government agency. No, the problem was the dreams and a vague sense of betrayal. He probably couldn't have put his feeling into words even in a better situation, but he was sure he had been slighted somehow. So he was paranoid? It was probably healthy right now.

He looked over his shoulder at Reginald Simmons, Reg, who had stopped snickering and looked slightly awkward again. He felt even sorrier for Reg than himself; the kind of trouble he and Judy had joked about having gotten with their parents was nothing compared to the trouble Reg was getting into, not to mention he was in this alone. He and Judy might have been there with him, but Reg didn't even know them.

"I'm really very sorry," he felt the need to say, but Reg only shook his head.

"Don't be," he said and he had the oddest glow in his eyes. Ron wasn't sure why, but suddenly he thought that if Reg wasn't obviously a little wimpish he might have been pretty scary guy. But still, they owed Reg at least friendship for this. So, time to get to know him.

"So, what's your favourite colour?" he asked and it was so obvious his best friend was a girl.

"Grey?" Reg made it sound like a question.

That hadn't gotten them very far. And he wasn't going to go for the "what are you going to be when you grow up" and not only because it reminded him of his elderly aunts.

"Do you have any favourite books?" he tried again. At least this time the answer wasn't monosyllabic.

* * *

Optimus Prime thought that he should feel more elated as Ark, piloted by Jetfire, neared the blue planet, but the best he could manage was anxiety. They had to win here, but even then winning would stop nothing. Not the war, not the hatred. He didn't regret defending freedom and justice, didn't regret for an astrosecond rising against his brother. His one true regret was that he hadn't changed Megatron's mind. He knew that he'd had influence on his brother, but he could never predict the results of his advice. He would say something, or not say, and Megatron would decide on a course of action. Maybe an unwise course and in the end, the wrong course.

Many of those conversations haunted him now, but two above any other. The first had occurred after the Senate had vetoed their petition for a bid re-evaluation for the two moons stations trade committee. Megatron had waited for his temper to cool off in the huge, dark halls, unwilling to go to public when feeling so enraged. Optimus had then wondered who his brother had been before he had been chosen as a candidate for the Lord High Protector; Megatron could curse like a miner… or a dock worker.

"How can you stand them sucking energon from the poor's cube?" he had asked. Optimus had laid a hand on his shoulder. He hadn't been overmuch worried, Megatron's temper had been no news for him.

"I can't see the future. I can only work with the present. If I'm outgunned I'll get mad, but then I'll re-evaluate. Nothing is ever truly over." Megatron had looked at him silent as void and he had felt uncommonly nervous. Then the Lord High Protector had simply said:

"You are right." His optics hadn't flickered.

He had changed, little by little. The Megatron Alpha Trion had first introduced to him could never have killed a fellow Cybertronian in cold energon and while he had been suspicious of other races, his very function to defend their world from all possible threats, he hadn't considered them inferior.

The second conversation had happened with both of them holding the other at gunpoint.

"If you hate me so much, then why make such a drama of killing me when a simple blast to the Spark would do it?" he had asked. It had been after one of Megatron's… overt plans that tended to fall apart due to their unnecessary complexity.

"One might think you are just trying to get my attention," he had daunted the Decepticon leader, holding his attention so Ratchet could stabilise Ironhide.

"You would not be wrong," had been the answer and Megatron had smirked.

Optimus Prime, supreme commander of the Autobots, was returned to the present by Jazz's tight, almost hungry voice.

"A Decepticon ship at ultra violet, sub-segment two, mark 114/301/22. It is Nemesis." He turned to look at his people under the gentle, muted light of the bridge and his gaze lingered in Bumblebee, mute since Tyger Pax, and Taser, lost and betrayed by his own, however content now. It might seem eternal now, but he wasn't going to dishonour their suffering by letting his weariness cloud his judgement. They were halfway between the asteroid belt and Mars, approaching Earth at full speed.

"We are about to commence offensive action," he told them, "Jazz, hail Xantium! Nemesis can not successfully fight both ships at the same time and time is of value now. Open all gunports!" The fight was commencing in slow motion, both ships rotating to get to the ideal positions.

_Ark: approaching_, Soundwave told to his cassettes that now controlled the whole ship. Enemy, Buzzsaw and Garboil in the Engineering, Rumble and Laserbeak at the secondary weapons control while Howlback was the main helmsmech and Ravage piloting the ship, their bigger form's, twice as big as their siblings', allowing them to do so easily. He was the communications officer as well as the captain. Ineffective; too few to manage the ship; Starscream's plan inadvisable; risk of getting stranded on Earth: moderately high.

_Rotate 115. Propability of Xantium attacking: high_. He didn't feel hate; illogical feeling. But if he had hated something it would have been sentient ships.

_Objective: delay Ark's journey until dame exceeds__ class 2A_. His words echoed through seven minds and he acknowledged the one that was missing.

_Okay, boss!_ Rumble shouted exited through the comm. line and Laserbeak whooped. He knew they only rued Frenzy wasn't with them to enjoy the heat.

_Commence__,_ he ordered.

And Optimus Prime ordered: Fire. And Xantium, who was now reluctantly closing the distance at top speed, leaving Wreckers without back-up, consulted her battle computer.

_When I engage Nemesis leave the battle, sir. I can handle the fight,_ she all but outright ordered. And Soundwave captured the transmission. Nemesis launched an attack, soundless in the dark void, and Ark evaded the best Jetfire could manoeuvre and attacked.

Optimus Prime had a vision of a new Cybertron without war of strife, but he knew no one could force true peace. Just like Megatron could never force absolute order upon life, even mechanical life like theirs. Megatron could advance as he was capable regardless of the cost, kill whoever he wished, there would be no order or peace for faction which very existence was based on the survival of the fittest. And he couldn't force peace, he thought and flinched as both Ark and Nemesis trembled from plasma blasts and numerous alerts went off in a flicker of red and low-sonic sounds, no matter how much he might have wished so.

For peace without freedom was mere captivity.

* * *

During their traffic laws abiding ride from Mission City to the canyon the Wreckers were hiding in the weather had changed from childhood sunny to rain. Ron and Reginald had bonded over cowboys, Indians and Spitfires. It turned out Reginald really, really liked Spitfires and the pilots who had flown them in the Big War. Now Judy knew of Douglas Bader, who had lost his legs in a crash and still flown in the war with artificial replacements and George Beurling, who had been called arrogant and crazy and who'd had thirty-one kills to his name. She also knew of elliptical wing design and that a thing called semi-monocoque duralumin fuselage existed, whatever hell that was. Apparently it was good or something. At least they were entertaining Sandstorm, she thought, even though she suspected that the mech was suppressing snorts when they talked about maximal speed and high altitudes.

"Is this going to take a long time? This whole infiltration operation, I mean. And just how you think we will manage?" she asked, little cranky. At first it had been terrifying, the fight Whirl had sheltered them from. Then just scary, then scary and kind of amusing, but now her neck and back were stating to hurt from sleeping in a helicopter and sitting in a car whole day long and she was beginning to really need a shower. Spitfires weren't helping, either.

"It will only take this night. And Reginald Simmons is going to get inside, drop a little gas bomb and walk out, then we will do the rest." It took few seconds for his words to sink in.

"Gas bomb! We are not going to kill anybody!" she screamed at him. Fine, he was pretty awesome big robot, but he wasn't that awesome. Nothing could be.

Sandstorm bristled inwardly as all three inside him tensed. Fine, he was distracted for a good reason, but that was no excuse to handle the situation this badly. He could sweet-talk unaware cons into walking into his team's welcoming arms with weapon upgrades without even removing his badge, but three adolescents he couldn't handle better than this?

"There will be no killing. The gas is supposed to knock the base out so we can do the actual breaking and entering without witnesses. To protect Reginald from his father's ire you two, Ronald and Judy, will have to pretend to be kidnappers, but we will make sure that no one will see your faces. This will be a smooth, safe operation." He made sure his voice was gentle, as human as he could make it and the three children inside him relaxed little despite themselves. This was better.

"And you know what is harmful to humans and what is not?" Judy demanded. She was the one Sandstorm respected most of them, the bravest and most intelligent if he read the signs right.

"We are lacking in cultural information, but your scientific network has giving us enough information to pull this safely," he assured the girl. Judy nodded, reluctantly, but she said no more.

Ron was pretty sure that what Judy had wanted to ask was if and why they should trust Sandstorm's word, but he was still impressed by her daring, little diplomatic discretion or no. Sandstorm was rather intimidating, even if he didn't seem like a bad person, after all.

"You are really something else, you know that?" he told Judy, "I love you." Now he had gotten it off his chest. Then Judy looked at him and he'd had no idea her eyes could be so big and misty.

"I love you too," she whispered and reached for his shoulders. Their second kiss was much like the first one, little sloppy and awkward, wet and very tantalizing. He was suddenly feeling odd tingling in his stomach as warmth spread downwards and the embarrassed blush killed the feeling to the cradle, but maybe it wasn't mutant lizards kind of wrong to think about Judy like that after all.

"And you are going to believe in horoscopes from now on, right?" she teased him. Even her teasing felt different now.

"Well, it was empirically proved," he conceded happily. Not that he really believed, but whatever made Judy happy too.

They drove on, ate their sandwiches and they drove on and if Ron held Judy's hand instead of keeping both hands on the steering wheel, and if socializing with Reg suffered the same as their disguise, it was all right. Reg's mother was bound to get worried before this ended, but it wasn't like he seemed to worry about it any more than he and Judy. And it was all so exiting now and Judy had beautiful hands.

Luckily Mission City wasn't that far from the canyon. The hike up Boy Scout Canyon started in a sandy wash, flanked by willows and tamarisk. At this point it was still drivable, though not easily; especially by the sports car that was Sandstorm's flashy alt mode choice.

"So, now we have gotten to the canyon, but how are we supposed to get into it?" Reg asked, eyeing the landscape suspiciously. Surely they weren't supposed to hike? Then he noticed that both Ron and Judy lifted their feet on their seats and gripped the back rests hard.

"Put your whole body on your seat and don't touch anywhere else," Sandstorm instructed him. Reg obeyed nervously and took a deep breath. Then the transformation began.

Sandstorm had been big for a sports car right from the beginning, but from the seat inside him it was suddenly obvious that the shell of the car was actually twofold. Now it unfolded itself in big plates and mass began to flow from beneath their seats in sharp shapes and moves, and Reg realised with slightly nauseous twist that they would have severed his feet from his legs if he hadn't lifted them up. The mech opened like a flower to the sun, but instead the rain fell on them, and then it built itself again with much bigger space inside. A very differently shaped space too and judging by the noises changes were still going on where they couldn't see them. When silence became he squirmed on his seat, feeling irrationally like he had just seen somebody stranger strip for him.

"Now we go in," Sandstorm said and with a loud, metallic roar they rose from the ground.

"Shocked us too, the first time!" Judy shouted over the noise as they all rose to peek at the slowly narrowing canyon from the windows.

Scoop was posing as a hapless, innocent payloader and keeping an audio on the soldiers inside the base. Ideally he would have kept an audio on the brass, but they were too deep inside the rock and so he had to do with the soldiers in guard. Which was also a reason he was now a slightly amused and a lot more frustrated payloader.

_Hey, Springer?_ he asked. It would have been a whole lot funnier if they were a little more compatible physically, he was sure.

_Something to report__, Scoop?_ the Wrecker leader inquired.

_Guards number 1, 2, 3 and 4 are __engaged in dirty poems called limericks._ The response to this wasn't immediate. The fledging information network humans were trying to build was used by governments and scientists only and Springer was trying to find a reference to limericks in vain.

_And this is relevant how?_ he asked eventually.

_I just thought I would share. _Scoop dutifully didn't fidget and tried to ignore the reciting in favour of something useful. Guard 2 snickered at the latest limerick and judging by the voice she was a female. Then she launched into one of her own that Scoop sent straight to Springer.

There once was a vampire called Mable  
whose periods were very unstable  
Once every full moon,  
She took out a spoon,  
And drank herself under the table

It actually wasn't one of the better ones; he couldn't figure it out at all. Periods?

_Scoop,_ Springer said with a piece of coding that basically said "I'm being very patient." Not that he really was, but Scoop blamed the stress.

_Yes?_ he quipped.

_Just pay attention to something important._

Springer was slightly frustrated. Roadbuster, trying to not attract any undue attention, was still far from the canyon and they might have to wait for the gas bomb ingredients until the nightfall. On the other hand, now he had ample time to question Ronald and Reginald about their revelations. Logically, it would make Reginald's cover story as being kidnapped and forced to betray his creator much more plausible if the other creator informed the one in the base about Reginald being missing. He wasn't happy about the fact that the boy had volunteered to help them, however much that saved him from difficult explanation later. The boy obviously had no honour at all.

Twin Twist kept an optic on him, uncomprehending. The destructive jumpstarter didn't really understand why he was making such an issue about the morals of a person they would never again had to have anything to do with. Springer could rationally acknowledge his reasoning as sound, but he couldn't really help himself. They all had their quirks. Sandstorm was smooth-talking and could get them just about anything, Broadside's alt modes were an impossibly large jet and an aircraft carrier, while he also happened to be terrified of heights. And got seasick on the water. Twin Twist had odd obsession with the left feet of Decepticons bigger than him, always trying to cripple them in battle by drilling into the left foot. Whirl had decided that insanity made an extremely effective weapon, Scoop pushed so hard for so long that he was prone to overheating, time and time again and Topspin was a passionate hiker.

Whereas Springer happened to be the archetypical hero: good in a fight, brave, confident, always ready with a dead-pan quip to lighten a dire moment and rather moral, all things considered.

It was the arrival of Sandstorm and the three humans that got him to focus. It was time to get the intel straight.

It was a good thing that he had seen the Mega Man in ice before or he would have flipped, Reg thought as they landed. He was very close to flipping as things were; the Wreckers weren't as big as the Sector Seven's robot except for one well and truly huge, but there were so many of them and they were moving. Only the fact that he had spent so much time inside one without coming to harm caused that instead of panicked he felt tired and a little drained. They were playing in a bigger sandbox than even his father could have imagined. Irrationally that thought gave him strength, allowed him to hold his head high. Maybe they weren't safe anymore, but for once he wasn't inferior to his father. It was a heady, heady feeling.

Ron and Judy jumped off Sandstorm little nervous, but not afraid. He took a deep breath and jumped after them. It was time to get the show on the road.

* * *

_I found-d-d-d it!_Frenzy cackled and Barricade rumbled satisfied. The cassetticon might have been irritating, but he was competent at the least. No failure, good for him. Their leader would be free once more.

All Spark would be rightfully theirs.

* * *

Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.

astrosecond 0.498 seconds

breem 8.3 minutes

cycle (IDW continuity) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)

mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours

deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks

stellar cycle (IDW)7.5 months

vorn 83 years

AN: The vampire limerick is not mine.

The way I see it nothing is forever, not even transformers. They can replace every other part of themselves, but not the Spark crystal, held inside Spark chamber. When it eventually (after maybe a million years or so) cracks they die a natural death. And so, Optimus and Megatron weren't the first rulers of Cybertron.

About the system Jazz used to locate Nemesis: Think about a ball that's divided into four equally big segments: infra red, visible region, ultra violet and X-rays. (They may be machines, but that doesn't mean they have to be dull about this. At first I thought about colors, but that's so Earth.) These segments are divided further into sub-segments where you need three dimension numbers to tell the exact location.

Jumpstarters can transform between modes in 0.4 of a second, significantly faster than most Transformers.


	8. Sowing wind, hailing storm

**Sowing wind, ****hailing storm**

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.

* * *

Chloroform would have been the obvious answer. Sadly, it was also easy to overdose on and dosages would be night impossible to control accurately enough and so Topspin decided to concoct sevoflurane instead. Sevoflurane (2,2,2-trifluoro-1-trifluoromethylethyl fluoromethyl ether), also called fluoromethyl hexafluoroisopropyl ether, was a sweet-smelling, non-flammable, highly fluorinated methyl isopropyl, often administered in a mixture of nitrous oxide and oxygen. After desflurane it was the volatile anesthetic with the fastest onset and offset. Though desflurane had the lowest blood/gas coefficient of the currently used volatile anesthetics, sevoflurane was the preferred agent due to its lesser irritation to mucous membranes. Though it vaporized readily, it was a liquid at room temperature and had to be administered via an anesthetic vaporizer attached to an anesthetic machine.

It wasn't the easiest thing to concoct without the lab and Xantium couldn't be called down; she was fighting Nemesis, ordered by the Prime himself. Things were definitely heating up and they had abandoned whatever subtlety they had left in favor of speed, Roadbuster not caring if humans noticed him anymore, as long as he didn't detect any cons. It wasn't that difficult, Topspin had noticed. The shielding they usually used to camouflage themselves simply didn't work that well in the atmosphere of this planet: there was too many kinds of too many particles in the air and the cons could be detected as holes against their long-distance sweeps.

Right after they had found out they had decided to merely camouflage their spark radiation. Again, the way Earth was just so full worked in their favor; without spark-readings it would be an exercise in futility to try and tell them apart from local vehicles, it would have been like trying to find a microchip from a junkyard.

Vapor pressure: 157 mmHg (20.9 kPa) (at 20 °C). Easy enough if he could first get it done with his limited shell implanted equipment and spare parts for the bomb. Ronald Witwicky explaining his dreams right next to him wasn't helping him concentrate, either.

Ron had dreamed of ultra-dense, liquid metal material, extremely hard to damage and still damaged, armour twisted and mangled, spread as puzzle pieces upon the ground like someone had dropped a child's toybox. Puddles of glowing liquid upon ground without blade of grass and pavement. A steady flow of that glow pried past protecting metal. He had dreamed of pain and screaming, fire and death. Then deep ice, dark and desperate haste. He had dreamed of a star, pure and perfect and so bright his yes watered before he had to shut them, cupped within his palms. A city so beautiful it could have almost been made of those stars. And he had dreamed of a friend, a mother. He wasn't sure if he explained it all well, but he tried.

Springer's optics refusing again and again unnerved him, shining and spinning in a way he just knew meant his battle computer, whatever it even was, processes the new information into his tactics.

"This friend you told me about, can you tell anything about how she looked? And why do you deem her to be a female?" he asked and Ron squirmed. It was worse than when a math teacher asked him to solve a problem in front of class. He just hated to receive attention like that.

"I don't really remember much, except…" something was coming back now, he shut his eyes and it was drawn against his eyelids.

"She had some kind of exotic, swirly tattoos or paint on her. And, mothers tend to be female, don't they?" he asked with little haughty intonation. He was really having it with the third degree and the way Judy was staring at him intensely. It was stupid to think she would leave him because of this, he knew it, but it just wasn't normal and what if she didn't like it? Also, he was hearing some kind of metallic hum, just strong enough it couldn't be ignored. Maybe it was something from the transformers' systems that did it.

Exotic and swirly were infuriatingly vague descriptions, Springer thought about Cybertronian glyphs and the archaic hieroglyphs that marked the All Spark, most of them had never been translated. He knew there had been speculation about the All Spark being in fact a sentient being that just communicated on a level that went beyond their understanding. Cybertronians couldn't dream. He hadn't even known what dreams were before Ronald had explained them to him, and subconscious that seemed so ineffective way of processing data. He tried to convince himself that it didn't really matter. They would get the All Spark and get off the planet, leaving its disturbing, dreaming beings behind. He didn't quite manage.

And then there was the other boy and his news. If only they had good enough luck, if it was their errant Lord High Protector helpless in the clutches of these humans… He would take great pleasure in executing him and sending the Decepticons into throes of a civil war of their own. And if they were lucky the glitches would wipe themselves out entirely.

"Reginald Simmons, please describe the Cybertronian your father creator has in custody in as much detail as you can. Have you seen him close enough to see his faction sign?" If nervous speculation had reigned until now, the tension could now be cut with a knife. Reginald detected it too; he squirmed much like Ronald had before he sat straighter and lifted his chin.

"He's really tall and massive, but still smaller than Broadside, wide shoulders, chrome plating and insides gray, red optics, talons in his hands, two toes at the front of his foot and one at the back. There are spikes on his shoulders and smaller spikes on his head that make almost like some kind of crown, very angular face. Pretty thin waist compared to the rest of his body, very massive legs and lower arms. No signs that I have seen." His voice was quiet, but steady.

_This is promising. Dibs on drilling him a new exhaust pipe right through the spark,_Twin Twist demanded, rattling his plating anticipating the kill.

_No dibs. F__irst come, first served!_Scoop answered just as hungrily. He wasn't unhappy as a soldier by any stretch, in fact he couldn't really imagine what to do if or when the war finally ceased, but that didn't mean he didn't resent Megatron truly, madly and deeply for declaring it. He had lost many good friends during the endless-looking vorns and while it was usually easier to anger a rock than the amiable bot, his anger also died hard and often messily.

_No infighting, I will kill him and we obviously have to work with our radio discipline,"_ Springer ended the argument, not entirely unselfish. All right, not unselfish at all.

_And why you always got all the fun? We want to shred him too! _And they knew it very well.

In reality, the bot that first got to Megatron, if it indeed was Megatron, would be the one to kill him anyway. First come, first served, he conceded the point. Springer gave both Ronald and Reginald a stern look.

"Are you sure you have told me everything there is to know. Bear in mind, this is a military operation and valid intel is of utmost importance." The two small beings squirmed under his gaze, but it was probably merely because, he was intimidating to them. Humans were much like snowflakes; one had to wonder why the universe had seen such trouble to create such diversity and beauty of something so fatally fragile.

"That was everything," Reginald said and Ronald nodded.

_Till all are one in Primus' name,_ Topspin said, activating his guns merrily.

Judy walked to them, well, she took two whole steps and gave Ron a brief hug before patting Reg's hand. He didn't look like he needed consolation, but maybe he was just so proud.

"You know, we should convince our parents to take us here for spelunking and sightseeing after this is all done. Well, after they have let us out of the house again, that is," she proposed. Ron gave him incredulous look.

"You think they are going to let us out before the summer vacation is over, let alone take us into anywhere?" he asked. Judy's smile was unconcerned.

"If we can help those to save their mystic alien artefact we can do anything," she retorted. She had almost said "that has made an oracle out of you" but hadn't. She had almost said "our parents are in our side at least", but hadn't. There were lots of things she hadn't said about whether they should trust the robots with the supposed knock-out gas and how they only had their word about leaving them and their planet the heck alone, mostly because speaking aloud her doubts couldn't make the situation any better, only unnerve her boyfriend and kind-of-friend. She had never been good at biting her tongue, but luckily she seemed to be a quick learner.

Few days. They were entitled to that at least. Few days of nothing but sun, fun, and good company. It was odd for at least her and Ron to be there without their families now, but it wasn't necessarily a bad kind of odd. One could only deal with a family for so long before needing a little break and because they had been taken there mostly against their will they didn't have to feel guilty about worrying their parents. It was an emancipating experience, and bonding with Ron. Now if the going only would end as long as going was still good.

"I suppose you're right," Ron nodded, still a little unsure. The thought of his parent's reaction to this all was an unsettling one. And then there was strange hum that seemed to plague him. It was getting stronger now.

"Of course I'm right," his girlfriend said with confidence. "My primary characteristic is to be right."

Ron chuckled with amusement.

"And the artefact rescuing business is just a detail?" he teased. He really liked Judy's smile.

"Hey, a girl needs a break now and then from being a genius." She stretched, her green shirt licking her boobs and Ron got that funny, warm feeling at the bottom of his stomach again and lower. This time it was a lot harder to ignore.

Reg was listening to their bantering, feeling more than little out of his depth. His father wouldn't take time to take him anywhere, especially after this catastrophe, though he probably would allow him to go with Ron and Judy's families. After doing a background check on them, of course, he wasn't that neglectful. The main issue was, he wanted a girlfriend too. Preferably Macy, but anyone good-looking with some brains and sense of humour would have done at least until he found someone he really wanted and who wanted him. The point was, he was lonely and he didn't like being lonely. Maybe he could try sweet-talking Judy if they were left alone?

But he didn't really want to resort to that either. He was less lonely than he had been that morning and it was pretty much Ron's doing. Ron was friendly with him and it wasn't because of his money. Yes, he knew the drill about traumatic experiences creating bonds. His father had told him that army training was a watered-down version of that: the unit faced hardship and strict hierarchy together, had each other's backs and had a common "enemy", their drill sergeants, and that created a strong bond for at least as long as the service lasted. If the unit actually had to fight and it became real traumatic experience the bond was that much stronger. Actually what his father had told him about how a man's mind works under duress was beginning to make a scary amount of sense.

His father had called it a convert's mindset: a psychological response sometimes seen in an abducted hostage, in which the hostage showed signs of loyalty to the hostage-taker, regardless of the danger, or at least risk, in which they had been placed. Oh boy, they had a bad case of that, Ron and Judy worse than him. Reg had never really paid more than token interest in the notion of possible kidnapping, but he had been sure that he would be a tad more intent in escaping than this. But, it was helping them to cope and the abductors should soon leave the planet so maybe nothing bad would come of it. And there was also the army-bonding in effect. That was why he wouldn't go after Judy, as beautiful and clever and funny as she seemed to be. There were many fishes in the ocean, but only two people he was bonding with and he wanted to keep them both.

"Spelunking and sightseeing it is," he said.

"They too are going to leave Ark behind and land on their own," Springer aloud and the three of them looked at one another, suspecting a part of that conversation had been via some kind of radio transmission.

"…and they are definitely going to leave Jetfire as back-up and guard against Nemesis." The humans looked at each other, obviously confused before Judy voiced:

"What's Ark and Nemesis? I presume you don't keep any animals or goddesses of vengeance." Though she seemed little amused by the thought.

"We're aliens right?" Whirl said with straight-wired voice, "just what kind of aliens don't have a spaceship?" Judy grinned a little more.

"That's so cool."

Then they heard a motor. Ron grabbed Judy's hand protectively, but the Wreckers didn't appear concerned.

* * *

Raquel stared at the bright yellow and orange surfing board, her smile faltering. Her eyes swiveled towards her boyfriend who grinned proudly and then back to the surfing board with a big, red bow around it that sat innocently in front of her on the well-mowed lawn. Then she looked at the house like she could see the pool on the backyard. He had insisted waiting till the evening before giving it to her, most likely because he thought that the last gift of the day would leave the strongest impression.

"Oh my, Oscar… you shouldn't have…" Really, she thought, you should have thought instead.

"Well," her boyfriend started, obviously happy with himself, "since it is your seventeenth birthday I thought I would buy something a little more expensive." He beamed like a beacon and Raquel suppressed a groan. Apparently Oscar hadn't thought in his desire to see her in a skimpy swimsuit where she was supposed to use the gift. They didn't live anywhere near the ocean!

The Nemesis had retreated when faced the united fire power of Ark and Xantium. Stepping into the pressure lock chamber they shed their exo-structure, the disguise from the last planet they had visited, and returned to their protoform state and then transforming further into their transition forms; armored, cometary shapes capable of interstellar travel.

The heat of atmospheric entry, pressure exerted on a bodies moving through a fluid medium, the air, causing a strong drag force to be exerted on the bodies. The shockwave generated by the rapid compression of air in front of them lit their vision, leaving a streak of light behind them. In transition form they didn't have pain sensors, which was good, for then it would have hurt like pit.

Hitting the ground even more so.

Ironhide grumbled as he rose from a hole in the ground that had been a small body of water before he had hit it. There was a small building that probably housed few of the little things that lived on the planet. A part of him made note of it being lousily fortified even the planet's standards and scoffed while he initiated a systems check.

_Initializing full systems check.  
Checking weapons system. Checking transformation system.  
Weapons system online.__  
Checking vital functions: Checking spark support system. Synchronizing data. Checking fuel processing unit. Checking self-repair system.  
Checking equilibrium system. Checking sensory system. Checking mobile system.  
Transformation system online.  
Comm. system: System failure, rebooting comm. system.  
Vital functions systems online.  
Mode: Grade 3 alert.  
Full systems check complete._

That was when the screaming started. He detected two human lifeforms and zoomed his optics to two small beings standing like welded to the ground. Then the female's eyes turned white and she fell to the ground with a wet smack. Odd, yellow object fell on top of her. The male shuddered and regained the control of his limbs, running away clumsily while stumbling from fear.

"Monster! Monster is eating Raquel!" he shouted as loud as he could and disappeared behind the house.

It was true that Ironhide didn't always see optic to optic with Optimus Prime, despite their old friendship. He was infinitely more practical of the two, and if he was more than a little trigger happy, the situation justified it easily. He could be more willing to push the Autobot code to the limit than many if he felt it will get the job done faster, but no more than the Wreckers, for example and he'd had more than enough of mechs-in-arms whispering how he was better suited for the Decepticon cause behind his back during the time in his old unit. He wasn't about to take the same from a bunch of organics, however.

He had more guns than a smaller civilization, but sadly blowing the humans up would only have proved their point and threatening people already fallen into processor lock wasn't much fun. Besides, he needed to scan an alt mode.

* * *

Contrary to a popular opinion Starscream had a lot of patience and even a moderately high tolerance for stupidity. It had definitely been a benefit once, when he had been a scientist and even more so when he had become one of the Lord High Protector's trusted officers vorns later and a lot of senators with all the processing power of a vacuum unit seemed to think Cybertron Military was composed of their personal sim soldiers. He'd had to handle, sadly personally, several undignified temper-tantrums thrown by elected officials when told that no, the Cybertron Air force/Ground Force/Space Force was not their personal unit and they might not use personnel or equipment from any named branch of the armed forces for their posturing or less legitimate whims.

He had honestly thought he had already seen the most idiotic and self-centered Cybertronians could get. He had been wrong.

Blackout and Scorponok had gotten into a quarrel with the local squishy armed forced in a place called South Korea. They'd had a field day with the little flesbags running for their lives, mostly in vain, but one of the fleshling soldiers had gotten lucky with an explosive and blown the stinger off Scorponok's tail and another had damaged his front leg gears.

All Cybertronians had an intricate self-repair system. No living organism, even a mechanical one, could survive for very long without one. It could repair minor damage and even replace badly damaged parts if they were simple enough, like wheels and joints, but they couldn't make repairs out of thin air. Their mass convertor needed materials to repair and replace with and they were low on Cybertronian on this miserable organic-infested rock ball that had most of any potentially useful alloys so deep within the planet it would have been out of question to try and mine them even with time, which they were also lacking. He wanted to be little late, just late enough to give the Wreckers time to kill Megatron and he had machined Hailstorm to suffer from a minor fuel poisoning that would cause him to slow them down on their way to Hoover Dam, make him the scapedrone – after all, there was no way the Constructicons would leave their lover behind. The gestalt mindset was truly disgusting and he would have to make sure they were too damaged in the fight to form Devastator afterwards.

Being late was part of the plan, but he didn't want to be so late Optimus Prime had enough time to land and take the possession of the All Spark. He didn't have enough troops to wrestle it from him, his shellguards and the Wreckers.

And, Constructicons had decided to be difficult with their cybertronium, silicon and titaron supply. Like they owned it. In the Decepticon Army you didn't own anything, the army owned you and it was obviously time to remind them of that, especially since they just didn't have time to go scavenge Brawl's shell and systems. Also, Blackout was refusing to go anywhere without his precious drone, like he owned it.

Time to get rid of those delusions.

"You, combiners," he punctuated his words with three target locks, "were chosen to accompany me to this planet as some of the best of our resources I had in hand and as such, you will give your resources to the use of the unit. Unless you want our endeavour fall apart due to undisciplined and unworthy behaviour and to end up dead as an example, you will relinquish you materials now!" Scrapper sent him the affirmative, grudgingly, but he sent it. Then he turned to face Blackout.

"And you will not endanger this mission by mollycoddling your pet. Do I need to repeat the lesson I already beat into you once?" The helicopter built was enraged, keeping it all in tight leash, but unable to hide the tremble of his arm rifles, fighting to not start a battle he knew he would lose. In the end, the underling's loyalty to Megatron was what won him over without violence. Blackout didn't want to endanger their illustrious leader.

Then he shifted his attention to Hailstorm. Few moments ago he'd had a cube in his hand, now he didn't. Had he refueled? Most likely, the cyclo-craft had flown to Earth under his own power, after all, and had been low on fuel. Too late to do anything about that now and there was always the chance he had gotten fuel off his lovers' systems, unwilling to take anything he gave when he wasn't keeping an optic on him and making sure he did.

"Are you ready to follow without whining like an Autobot, at least?" he asked the spy.

Who had less than zero intention to let Starscream lead him out of a smelting trap, let alone into a new era. It was unwise to even imply the amount of his contempt. Yet, Hailstorm knew he must say something remotely truthful. Starscream wasn't stupid, merely arrogant bordering idiocy.

"I will follow you. I could say that I don't hate you, that I respect you, but I doubt you would fall for it," he told the seeker as he transformed. The last part was the naked truth. Hailstorm hated Starscream to an illogically emotional degree even in his mostly blank proto personality.

"That is good," murmured Starscream darkly, "then neither of us are in denial."

* * *

Roadbuster had gotten them better than the ingredients; he had gotten made up sevoflurane instead and so it had only been a matter of making the pressurized devices that would go boom. So in pretty short order they had all gotten into Sandstorm who had lifted his seats, actually seat-shaped shells on machinery, to make them look taller, like adults. They had hats, woolen scarves and big, dark glasses and Ron was beginning to think they were all going to need some serious confessional after being a contributing factor in such a series of thefts. And they had gotten inside. Ron had never been particularly religious, but now he was praying.

I only the odd humming wasn't distracting him. It made his teeth ache, he could feel it in his bones and he moved like in a dream, first the little bomb, Sandstorm jettisoned them all and they ran back out without breathing and then some even though their lungs burned and the humming was only getting stronger. He could almost make out words now, something about how maternity was something, new life, creating beautiful, fragile things, if only he could concentrate. His head was swimming, but his body worked just fine.

_You betrayed me,_ he accused, without remembering why. He felt such sadness it made his heart ache and he embraced Judy so he would be a little warmer. Somewhere Sandstorm had shot the second bomb deep into a ventilation shaft.

_I am so sorry, but this must be. Some species only live long enough to reproduce, _she told him, _it seems that I must be one. You must divide me so I can multiply, create two of that which was one. Think of it as creating a zygote. In a way you will be a father. _The humming went on and on, so melancholy it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. Now he wanted to beg her not to die.

They were getting back inside, time is, time was, time had gone, but he had no idea how much. He was talking, but he didn't hear his own words even in his head. They were told to get back ut by the green/strong/valiant/leading/untranslatable/war-jaded one, that they had done their part. Then the orange/strong/brave/trickster/untranslatable/war-jaded one took him with him all the same, there was a reason and maybe Ron was the one that reasoned. He had no idea. Maybe getting drunk was like this? Why were everyone war-jaded these cycles?

He didn't want to be a father yet. He wasn't ready and while he loved the old one it wasn't the same it was with Judy. But the mother, mother not-nature and mother-to-be sung his fears and arguments far, far away. And so they advanced.

Sandstorm watched as Ronald's gaze flew from soldier to soldier, from camera to camera, the ones he could see, a little confused expression on his face like he didn't quite understand what and why he was doing. He remembered when he first had been upgraded into a soldier and how distracting it had been to hear his threat evaluation program whispering things like. /Armed: photon rifle, possible sonic scrambler, standard cybertronium-steel alloy armour, weaknesses in chest area and joints/ when he had looked at his fellow Autobots. The program had dutifully resisted all attempt to shut it down and continued to whisper to him about his fellow soldiers' strengths and weaknesses. Maybe it was the same.

Ron's head was beginning to hurt. There were no more words, but there was haste, desperate haste and he found himself wishing Sandstorm was still a car so he could use the pedal. And then they were in a large, high room, or a hall, or a bay, he wasn't sure about the right word, but he was sure one of the white coats, scientists, had a heart condition and worried about him. Carbon-based/vulnerable, they needed to be protected. And then everything was put into a sharp focus, he was in a fricking huge room and his head was clear. There were people lying haphazardly around, there was… Oh merciful God in Heaven. It was demonic inside the ice.

Then, before either Springer or Sandstorm could as much as take aim, they were attacked.

Shockwave him the from behind, sending Springer and Sandstorm stumbling forward and Ron flying. The hurt was a sharp, silvery blow to his ribs, but not the kind of nauseating pain breaking bones would have been. The door Sandstorm had shut behind them was open once more, open in

pieces, and a huge, silvery Decepticon stood there, the black and spiky, smaller one behind him and one more behind the both of them, not exactly spiky, but blunt and somehow unrefined-looking. More steps came running, echoes deafening. He heard shooting, crashes, screeches, but the splashes were the most disturbing. Judy was there somewhere and there was a big fight going on.

But he didn't run to Judy. True, it was partly because the Deceppticons were between him and Judy, but it wasn't the main reason. Now when the odd, mindbending song was silenced he had no clear idea what he should do, but he had to do something and so he tumbled back up and run to the cube, so alien and still familiar. No one paid any attention.

Springer cursed and shot at them. What kind of boltprocessor would keep the All Spark and Megatron in the same room? Guarded by measly lasers! His logic subroutine pointed out that the humans didn't know just how dangerous the Lord High Protector was, but still, even phytoplankton should have more sense than that! Just how this species had lived long enough to become dominant he did not comprehend!

"You will not pass!" he thundered. Because now the fate of their entire race rested on his shoulders. The Decepticons would not pass even if he had to bring the entire mountain down on them.

"The glorious victory is ours!" Starscream screeched, and ignited his cannons. He was furious beyond verbal expression.

Those incompetent Autobots had gotten the coordinates. They had been here first, but they had sat on their afts and waited for a way to not hurt the measly parasites infecting the planet and here they were! Not much could be expected of Autobots, of course, but he had always somewhat respected the Wreckers before as competent, ruthless enemies. This was all that had come from his trust; Megatron still lived! You really had to do everything yourself to get anything done properly, but at least this would serve as a valuable lesson: never trust anyone with anything.

"He fired at Springer, actually trying to clear the way to accidentally use his missiles on the icicle tyrant, but was tackled from behind by someone blue, oh pit, could nothing go his way at least once?

Ron had gotten to the cube and the first thought when he looked at it up close was that it was huge. The second was that it was gorgeous like nothing he had ever seen before. How could they bear to experiment on something like that? Then a shot that rebounded from a wall near him and a loud metallic crash reawakened him to the situation and he thought: just how in hell am I supposed to carry that? He poked at it (her?) angrily.

"Shrink," he told it a little desperately, not actually expecting anything to happen. But much to his surprise she (it?) obeyed instantly, shrunking until he could lift her easily. Her, it, whatever. Ron ran like his life depended on it because it pretty much did.

The hell had been let loose, huge monsters had attacked the castle when the guards had been enchanted to sleep. Reg had already opened his mouth to scream, but they couldn't attract any attention now. They just couldn't and so Judy clamped both hands on his mouth and hissed:

"If you let out a peep now I'm wringing your neck!" Her voice was hoarse and her heart beat like it was trying to escape her chest, but she took now unresponsive Reg's arm and run for cover, making sure she was as close the wall as possible. Scoop, Roadbuster and Whirl were fighting against a big, black transformer, a giant scorpion and a bunch of miscanellous bundles of weapons and demonic, red optics that were trying to blast them to bits or at least get past them as quick as they could. Broadside and Topspin were running after those that inevitably had gotten past them and everything was exploding.

Eleanor Roosevelt had once said: A woman is like a teabag - you never know how strong she is until she gets in hot water. Judy was thinking about her as she dragged Reg into a utility closet with her and slammed the door shut.

"I'm a strong little teabag," she muttered to herself. Reg was probably looking at her funnily, not that she could see it in the dark. She couldn't help but think Reg wasn't the person she wanted to be there with.

"You don't really think it's a good idea to hide here, do you?" he asked with a low voice.

"Of course not, at least I have to get out of here before I am identified as your kidnapper and besides, this door isn't death ray proof. We just hide until the fight moves further in and then run out," she said even as she wondered what her chances were if she ran after Ron instead. Not very good, she concluded sadly. Her getting stepped on or blown into atoms wouldn't help Ron any so they were both on their own.

"They better protect Ron or I'm going to peel them to death with a potato peeler," she whispered darkly and pressed her ear against the door. The voices were so load she had difficulties telling whether or not they were moving the battle anywhere.

Then she remembered the soldiers that had fallen haphazardly all around the place and imagined giant legs stepping on them, crushing the life and red goo out of them. She almost threw up.

And then she heard someone humming. The lion and the unicorn were fighting for a crown… Reg was talking to her, but it was just odd, fleshly noise she didn't understand.

Many wondered how a soldier so small could have survived so long in the ruthless reality that was war, but there was a reason even the hot-tempered Barricade put up with his more annoying traits. Bots underestimated Frenzy at their peril. True, his little shurikens couldn't harm a good armour, but he could slice a primary energon line that led to the spark neat as you please. His small size was actually often an advantage on a battlefield as the bigger mechs didn't tend to look down. There was the stepping on hazard, true, but he was quick and agile. And now he was running towards the machinery that kept their lord and master imprisoned in ice.

"Ti-ti-time to wakewakewake up!" he cackled and jacked himself in.

They were already winning, mostly thank to Broadside taking on both Starscream and Mixmaster so Sandstorm and Springer could handle Barricade and Hook, Topspin, now damaged even more, was guarding the door. He could barely stand, but shooting was no problem.

_Ronald took the All Spark,_Sandstorm sent through a secure channel. It wasn't in instant danger as long as they could bind all the cons, but they would better get this done soon, because the human soldiers were already waking up to the chaos, trying to escape druggedly. And then a background hum stopped, one of them. They didn't notice it, so tiny a change it was in the environment. Their weapons heated the cold room soon, Barricade and Mixmaster both took serious damage.

_Die, Decepticon scum!_Broadside sent murderously through an open channel and punched Mixmaster against a far wall and the much smaller mech fell to the floor, whimpering. He ignited his blaster cannon, but before he could end the crazy chemist there was a new sound, nauseatingly clear through the noise of the battle. The sound of ice cracking.

And the with an enraged, crazed roar Megatron was free. One hit of a plasma cannon, heating the room from freezing cold do so hot it was lethal to the humans lying on the floor in an instant, brilliant, destructive light and Broadside fell to his knees cursing a blue streak, his voice so weak it made Springer flinch.

"That was a warning shot, Wrecker. Give me the All Spark!" Megatron demanded, his voice booming through Springer's exo-structure. It wasn't often that he knew he was at clear disadvantage in one-on-one battle, knew that he probably wouldn't live. Excitement trickling through his systems was almost arousing sensation; as much as he was the sensible one, he revelled in dancing with death when there was nothing to do about it, no tactics to follow, when he was given the leave to do so.

"Never, Megatron!" he shot back. His smile was as scary as any Decepticon's.

Megatron roared, almost primate noise, his optics brightening still and his claws clenched into promises of catastrophe. The suspense was like holding chaos on a leash, just few more astroseconds… He had to persevere until Optimus Prime got there, no matter the means.

"Give it to me!" Megatron's voice made the concrete vibrate.

"You're not soiling the All Spark," Springer stated, "and we will not give it up without one pit of a fight." And Megatron grinned like those were the exact words he wanted to hear, more than a promise of receiving their Creator of Sparks. You could always trust the energon lust of a lunatic despot. Let's tangle, Springer thought and excitement shot through him once more.

Sandstorm spun around and knocked Barricade clear off his feet. Grinning, he felt his bad feeling with the familiar art of kicking Decepticon aft. The smaller and more agile con wasn't easy opponent in close quarters, he found out as he aimed a hit for the interceptor's chest, only to have him dodge out of the way and shoot him from the side. Sandstorm went sprawling, but didn't waste time on getting back to his feet before shooting back. They both stumbled to get back up and sprung again, Sandstorm ducked, knocking the other's fist out of the way and delivered his own right into Barricade's face.

"Give it up and die, Decepti-glitch!" he shouted mockingly. He didn't allow himself think of a vulnerable human being all there was between the Decepticons and the All Spark. He couldn't let his concentration be disrupted; the sooner he killed the fragger off the sooner he could go search for Ron. Barricade responded with a furious screech and his claws.

Not far away enough from the battle, Ron was starting to become aware of the situation as he run away from Springer and Megatron, painfully aware every time he made a turn that the he could very well run away from allies right into the hands of the enemies. He had to get out, but the Decepticons were between him and the doors and while there probably were many others he had no idea where they were and chances were he couldn't open them anyway. He had no idea where Judy was or if she was even alive anymore; a heat wave, accompanied by a loud boom, had hit his back when h had run from the big chamber and oh God, were they using bombs? Inside? What if the whole mountain came crashing down on them? And so he ran.

There was nothing else he could do. He had heard a saying that a soldier's life was 99 boredom and 1 sheer panic. That had to be a peace-time percentage; though the proportions might vary slightly, most of a soldier's time couldn't be that boring if they were chased regularly. Just no way in hell.

He had run for a while, but got tired eventually, some doors opened for him and some didn't. At first there were a lot of knocked-out humans lying on the floor, but they became fewer and fewer until Ron begun to fear he would never find his way out of the base again. And what if the soldiers awakened while he was down there? He wasn't sure how potent the gas had been, but they had to be awakening soon; the noise could awaken the dead.

The underground was beginning to creep him out, he hadn't ever thought he might be claustrophobic, but now he had to get out, Decepticons be damned! He was already turning around when he heard a loud clash behind him. He swirled switly and saw a con, at least he thought it was a con with icy blue plating. The mech was more streamlined than the others he had seen, but still little spikier than the Wreckers and he didn't know him. But the mech wasn't shooting yet, maybe it was Optimus Prime or one of his companions?

"Desist your escape attempt, organic," it commanded him, so maybe not. He turned and ran again.

The Decepticon was fast. The echo of his steps was thundering, each gigantic stride eating up the endless as he chased after Ron and the All Spark. Ron was afraid. He could see that far away in the end of the tunnel was a door. What if it was locked? He ran past many doors, but he didn't dare to stop and try open them, maybe they were locked too and the Decepticon was fast. But not too fast. Ron couldn't understand it. Not that he wasn't happy about it, but when it came to a scrawny high-school student versus a super-powerful evil alien robot with big guns, Ron would have put his money on the robot. And yet, somehow Ron was faster. Maybe it was the way the Decepticon had to run almost folded in two, like a swizz army knife in the high but still obviously meant for humans corridor.

But that didn't explain why it didn't shoot him to the back. He couldn't dodge there, why had the secret base be underground, he would die there and he really didn't want to die. He swallowed tears and ran. He really didn't want to die.

Then the light flickered and died. He screamed and stumbled, ran a little more until his shoulder brushed the wall and he fell to his knees out of sheer terror. He couldn't see! He couldn't even use his hands to get up because he had to hold on to the All Spark and he held on. He could feel the air currents against his right cheek as the big foot stepped down in his side and he whimpered, not caring how undignified it was. He couldn't even see the death coming like that. He wanted to wail, scream that dying for an alien artefact was a really stupid way to go and that All Spark was a stupid name to boot, but even his voice had deserted him.

"Your eyes are absolutely useless," a disembodied voice announced and Ron somehow noticed that it was oddly melodic. Then he was picked up.

Picked up very carefully, like spun sugar. The cube was so hot it almost burned his hands.

"I don't want to die," he managed to whisper. And he wondered if Judy could somehow inherit VCR. The thought of the cute, cross-eyed cat left alone made him shudder. The Decepticon chuckled mirthlessly.

"Then this is your lucky day," it said, "for I am going to make you the hero of the Battle of Hoover Dam. The squishy that saved the All Spark."

* * *

Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.

astrosecond 0.498 seconds

breem 8.3 minutes

cycle (IDW continuity) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)

mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours

deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks

stellar cycle (IDW)7.5 months

vorn 83 years

AN: The Stockholm syndrome was named after the Norrmalmstorg robbery of Kreditbanken at Norrmalmstorg, Stockholm, Sweden, in which the bank robbers held bank employees hostage from August 23 to August 28 in 1973, several years after this story takes place. Walter Simmons is already common with the phenomenon, though.

About the All Spark being sentient: she (and I use the pronoun she because on Earth mothers tend to be female and I'm an earthling) is a species in herself and goes through an evolutionary process. She always had the potential of become sentient, but didn't until it was necessary for the survival of the species. That is, after the war had already well on. After that, she was a little indecisive for a while, because it's not a piece of cake, or an energon walk, to find you are a sentient being all of a sudden even if it were in more ideal circumstances.

You might have noticed that I use the pronoun she of Xantium, too. Thant's because on Earth ships are often referred like that. The translations from the non-gender specific Cybetronian are truly a pain in the aft.


	9. Spiritual reproduction

**Spiritual reproduction (****We're off to see the Wizard)**

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.

* * *

Apokalupsis eschaton: literally it means "revelation at the end of the æon." This would be the end of her age, the time to lift the veil.

The All Spark sang to Judy Garland, calling for her as she had called for Ron Witwicky. She was so afraid; she was the gate to the Matrix, to Primus, but could the gate enter even if a new one took her place? But she was a surrogate mother and midwife to a whole species and she had to do right by them, even if it was at the cost of her existence. And so she sang.

_Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Follow the Yellow Brick Road.  
Follow, follow, follow, follow,  
Follow the Yellow Brick Road.  
Follow the Yellow Brick, Follow the Yellow Brick,  
Follow the Yellow Brick Road._

Reproduction is the process by which new individual organisms are produced. Only one parent is involved in asexual reproduction; agamogenesis which refers to reproduction without the fusion of gametes. Many forms of asexual reproduction, for example budding or fragmentation, produce an exact replica of the parent.Parthenogenesis, which literally translates as virginal creation, is an asexual form of reproduction found in females where growth and development of embryos or seeds occurs without fertilization by a male. It would be a little like budding too; she would be divided. Semelparous organisms reproduce only once in their lifetime and they often die shortly after reproduction and that she had to be now. There were definitely parallels, but of course her evolution wasn't quite that simple.

She had to have faith in Primus.

She needed help to create the first egg, needed somebody to divide it from her body. No fertilization was needed, just a little mechanic help. The chosen helper was a male of his species. A male that made necessary contribution to the reproduction: sire or father. Also, she would be gone too soon to see through the processes of embryogenesis and morphogenesis; the development process which in this case would take several mega-cycles. Gestation: called pregnancy in humans and probably in other sentient beings, the period of time during which the fetus develops, dividing via mitosis inside the female. She needed a gestational carrier to carry the pregnancy to delivery after having been implanted with an embryo; she needed a surrogate mother.

She had to be brave.

_We're off to see the Wizard, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.  
You'll find he is a whiz of a Wiz! If ever a Wiz! there was.  
If ever oh ever a Wiz! there was The Wizard of Oz is one because,  
Because, because, because, because, because.  
Because of the wonderful things he does._

The virgin birth is a religious tenet of Christianity and Islam which holds that Mary miraculously conceived Jesus, the offspring of their Creator, while remaining a virgin.

**As I will it so shall it be.**

* * *

Reg was beginning to truly panic. Not because he was in a supply closet hiding from evil alien killing machines trying to conquer the universe, but because he was there with a person that had gone off her rocket. First Judy claimed she was a teabag and now she sang!

"We're off to see the Wizard. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz." Her voice finally, thankfully, faded into silence and Reg was holding his breath. Nobody appeared to have noticed they were there. He had never been particularly religious, but now he prayed with all his might that Judy wouldn't reveal where they were.

"What the hell are you thinking? Are you mad?" he whispered, wondering if she even realized she was. Had the terror been too much for her? But Judy just smiled. It was a strange smile, not quite there, but a very confident, reassuring smile much to Reg's surprise.

"We need to go, somehow," she said and it was a good idea. If only the noise of the battle would go away.

Judy felt so serene, so confident that everything would go according to the plan. A small part of her was demanding to know just what plan there was, but it was a very quiet voice. She just knew that the Judy had to be the Dorothy, the gift of God.

* * *

Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.

astrosecond 0.498 seconds

breem 8.3 minutes

cycle (IDW continuity) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)

mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours

deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks

stellar cycle (IDW)7.5 months

vorn 83 years

AN: The name Dorothy is of Greek origin and its meaning is "gift of God".

I did this little piece because I felt the All Spark had to get her moment in the limelight too. Also, I wanted to explain about the All Spark as the Creator versus Primus as the Creator dilemma.

So. The All Spark was created and given to Prima, the predecessor of the Primes, by the All-Creator Primus who very much does exist in this AU. There is no empirical proof of this however and so the official version goes that no one knows where the All Spark comes from. The strict scientific rationalism of atechnogenesis rejects traditional religious claims that Primus is the source of all life on Cybertron, and much of the ancient doctrine surrounding the All Spark. Many still believe the religious version and Optimus Prime is naturally one of them. Otherwise it would be like the pope being an atheist.


	10. The end of an era 1

**The end of an era**** 1**

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.

* * *

Bumblebee's first impression of the planet wasn't very good. It was probably partly because of the situation; they were in a hurry like rarely before, picking the first alt form that fit their mass and driving away like there was no tomorrow. But the planet was alien to him and everything he knew, it was full of small particles, on the ground, in the air that made shielding practically impossible, the way they would seem like holes against the full air. The planet wasn't mostly metal. Strangely coloured and shaped things all around that were wet inside. So many soft things like mud or crass or earth. Humans were so small that Ark, easily over two hundreds feet high by the local measurements, almost a mile wide and a mile and half long, was bigger than many of their towns, and their power was so organic that they didn't even have energy fields. He guessed that he would learn to like it with time, though. Maybe it was all just too exotic to take in all at once.

His new alt mode was certainly exotic; it was boxy. As good fighters as the twins were, he was suddenly grateful they weren't there with them. Sunstreaker would moan his lines so it would awaken the dead.

He felt Taser ping his comm. before he heard the engine. His friend approached him from south, driving on a road that would cross his a mile later. They drove fast and met at cross-roads, Taser waiting for him a half breem, his bright, red paintjob very unlike him.

"The only other choice was particularly unattractive shade of greyish something," he mock-defended himself, but then they drove on in silence. The night was heavy on them.

_Have the humans__ really gotten Megatron helpless? _Bumblebee asked eventually, unable to bear the tension quietly anymore. Memories of explosions, shouts of pain and hard hands dragging him, his pain, his last shout of pain when he denied... Could the Slagmaker truly die, just like that? Taser didn't answer right away.

"So they told us. But I have a feeling this isn't going to be this simple," he answered and Bumblebee had to agree. Megatron was like a huge star, all bright and terrible, painful radiation, inferno in the void, stars like him didn't fade away, they died with an explosion that peeled the planets into clouds of white-hot dust. He had to be brave. Optimus Prime was there to face Megatron. Optimus Prime, there wasn't one of the cons besides Megatron that was not terrified of him, and on Autobots' side he was the hero you got told about, the one who inspired you to face your fears and exceed your limits.His very name gave strength and courage to all those on the frontlines_._ And they had the Wreckers.The Wreckers were sent in when things were at their most desperate and they turned the tide of battle, no exceptions.

The shell language became muted when Cybetronian took changed into an alt form, but Taser could tell Bumblebee was tense. He certainly didn't blame the yellow bot; that he was driving to meet his nightmare without a prayer was more then he managed. He prayed he didn't fall back into his glitch.

"At least we are all in this together. And we all look equally ridiculous," Taser grumbled, happy to distract them both. They really did. In bot mode his elbows were pointing backwards, an extra plate his the back of his head and neck like some kind of demented support collar and Bumblebee, who was originally built slender and graceful, had an alt mode that looked like a box on wheels. I was sill better than his brick on wheels, though. He thought briefly about the Wreckers; their triplechangers had to have it hardest, trying to find two alt modes of at least somewhat similar mass and then having to figure out how to get the two forms to fit around each other. Not to mention getting the new parts fit when in robot mode. These vehicles were primitive.

That was when Springer's transmission came, priority one, high alert, like a shot from the night. It wasn't precise military language, just simple and damning.

_Hurry__ up! Megatron has awakened!_ Their sparks lurched sickly.

* * *

The only light was the ghastly red glow of the Deepticon's eyes. Ron was still panicking, his breath quick and heavy, but the damned thing wasn't doing anything to him, at least not yet, and his words were echoing in his mind. Hero of the Battle of Hoover Dam. The squishy that saved the All Spark. Why would a Decepticon help him to keep the All Spark from the Decepticons? He could be lying of course, but Ron saw no reason for him to bother.

"Are you an Autobot spy?" he asked, because it was the next conclusion. It was kind of a cool thought, in addition to being a relief. A spy that had been unable to make his true identity known before he was left alone with a boy carrying an important object (person) to safety, defending him from the evil Nazis, or Decepticons in this case. Even All Spark was cool against his skin now.

"No." Then again, maybe not. The hands holding him with sharp fingers, four fingers like a cartoon character's, powerful enough to bend something metallic no one had business bending.

A part of him, small quivering part that reminded him of a sparrow or some other miniscule bird, demanded him not to say a thing and not move an inch. Back to the primitive corner of the human mind. Because it was dangerous, it was a Decepticon and it could kill him so very easily.

But another part of him, not even so small a part, was kicking himself to the ass. He was, well, not really an Autobot, more like a temporary ally, and more an ex-abductee than a friend, but he had taken a side of his own free will and own reasons. He was right and he had a friend that needed his help. Cowering wasn't doing anything to help anyone. And while he really, really didn't want to die it was just natural. Almost nobody did and those who did needed some serious help. And even then, when the initial terror was wearing out he realised he was ready to take at least a small risk.

Like when he had defied huge, violent robots to protect Judy, this made him love himself in a way he wasn't familiar with, but was quickly deciding he liked.

And he was hungry. Scratch that, he was ravenous. His stomach grumbling kind of ruined the petrified mood. Ron turned his head to look into the face of his captor. It was expressionless and he had a feeling it wasn't just because it wasn't a real face, but plates of metal.

"If not, why are you doing this?" he asked. The Decepticon didn't give him the briefest glance.

"That is not for you to know," he said and pushed a door open. It was locked, Ron saw a small box with a blinking red light in the darkness, but then the light turned green.

"No, I don't care!" a loud voice bellowed. "I know this isn't your fucking fault, and you're not the one who lost the papers, but somebody screwed up bad somewhere, and we are fighting for our lives here, its Jesus Fucking Christ begun now so release the cargo! We need those ice cannons!" It was a minor act of art, the way his parts separated and changed shape like he was made of clay, passed through the door like a metallic snake and how he took his shape back in the dim-but-brighter, big-feeling room on the other side, his grab of Ron never wavering. The room was full of people.

Soldiers in their army green and arms streaked with dirt and oil, running around looking important, except that the running ceased now and everyone was staring them and now Ron was scared again. Because it was the military and he wasn't supposed to be there. A distant explosion shook the floor and the big cars, equipped with big cannons and other things that didn't belong to cars. But no one was shooting, yet, they were just staring dead silent and Ron remembered how scary Whirl had seemed when he first grabbed him and put him on a high ledge, above a battle raging. Naturally, almost nicely, his captor let his wrist riffle click. The sound echoed in the sudden silence.

"Go away," he said and shot a round through the nearest car and it exploded in a ball of fire Ron had to shield his eyes from.

Of course they didn't. Well, several people scattered from where they stood, but most simply took cover behind the cars and opened fire. The Decepticon that had him turned quickly his arm sockets so that Ron was behind his back. Ron's stomach lurched when he looked at how the arms were twisted and thought _that must hurt_ before he realised how stupid it was. The shots peppered the big mech's hide without obvious effect.

"If you have a cell phone throw it away now," the cool, unaffected voice told him. Despite the evidence of the last day and night in contrary Ron had pretty good sense and he fumbled to reach the phone, only now wondering why his parents hadn't just called him. They had noticed he was gone, right? But the phone's display was dark, even though the battery shouldn't be dead yet, and he threw it as far as he could. He was scared, not for himself. The soldiers were people and killing people was wrong!

"Please don't kill them!" he pleaded, but he knew it was futile.

His cell phone was the only he actually saw exploding, but there was a series of sharp, biting explosions and the room was a little brighter for a second. It had been chaotic just before, but now it was hellish chaos: people screaming and he heard running. He covered his face with his hands; he didn't want to see what would happen if a soldier had a phone in a chest pocket. Or in a pocket just about his hip. There was screaming and he didn't want to know. He was sure he could smell blood and burning flesh and then he threw up. At first he thought that now the thing would kill him too, he had dirtied it, then he didn't think anything as the dry heaves rocked his stomach. The Decepticon had turned his and back to the front at some point and was firing now.

"How could you," he whispered, utterly disgusted. If it didn't have its cryptic reasons it would have killed him too, just like that.

"Most of your modern appears to have been reverse-engineered from the Decepticon technology, these cell phone contraptions included. The self destruct mechanism is still included and I hacked into the system," it explained and how horrible it was that it misunderstood? Where were the Wreckers, he wanted this thing blown into itsy, bitsy little pieces!

But the Wreckers were elsewhere, he could still hear them fighting, and no one stopped the Decepticon as it marched into the far wall of the room and something blipped. Then the wall opened up and Ron saw a night sky, smelled rain-scented air, felt a breeze. He closed his eyes and imagined nothing of it had been real. The thing took some long strides and then put Ron down, carefully if not gently. Ron opened his eyes and saw that he as facing a cave. Well, it was more like a glorified crack in the stone than a real cave, but he could crawl in and in the darkness he would be invisible. The next the Decepticon put some kind of spherical object down in front of the cave. He felt a little dizzy, like something was rolling off it. His mouth still tasted like bile.

"This creates false reading that will disguise the white space the All Spark creates. Don't get caught." His voice was ever so blasé. Ron felt his insides heating with anger.

"I hope you will burn in Hell, just that you know," he hissed between his teeth. The Decepticon just looked at him and said:

"I won't." Bizarrely, for one mad second it seemed sad. And then it walked back inside the mountain base. It almost seemed like it was trying to wipe its hands clean and harsh, metallic noises, like muttering under its breath, sounded almost revolted.

Ron gazed into the now dark room, thankfully too far and the night too dark for him to see any details, the All Spark cool and soothing in his hands, facing the blue shifting shape as it disappeared into the darkness. There was no revving of the great engine, no dark rumbles or clicking of the riffle, only the resonating purr, tame for now. He lived. Thank God! The soldiers were dead, but he lived. What about Judy? And Reg, of course?

_They will come,_ the All Spark promised him and he didn't even understand to be surprised.

* * *

Megatron, still slightly disoriented, could feel a spark very familiar drawing nearer very fast. Where the All Spark was now was anyone's guess, but Optimus Prime would get his hands on it, without doubt. Then he would have to fight the Autobot leader. Megatron had fought him often and brutally, frustrated beyond all measures by the Prime's stubbornness. He had asserted his dominance over battlefield after battlefield, over matter after matter. No one dared to rise to resist his will, except his weak-sparked counterpart. And now the infernally annoying Wrecker that dared to try and kill him. He hadn't let either Optimus or the Cube go, not in a way that truly mattered. He hadn't relinquished his claim and now there was no fleeing further. He wouldn't let either leave, no matter how they tried. Because they made everything possible, and so the Lord High Protector had eviscerated everything for them. Let the whole Universe bleed.

He'd had the right. He was the strongest.

Optimus had stared across the table, but it could have been the whole city of Iacon, so vast the distance that lay between their minds. It had been cold, though not as cold as the North Pole vorns later. A host of words scrambled inside of them, all of them fighting each other to get out. A decimated Council crushed underfoot.

"Get out!" Optimus had shouted.

Megatron threw Springer off of him, but the Wrecker wasn't down yet. Springer shot at Megatron from the ground trying to bring him down. Now it was clear to Springer that a vorn in ice or not, he could not win against Megatron. He could win time, however, and get the Decepticon leader where the Prime could get to him, preferably already heavily damaged. All right, then. He had a plan. Maybe Megatron wanted the All Spark over everything else, but as the Wrecker commander Springer would be too tempting a target for the Decepticon's commander to not finish off, especially if he was retreating. Megatron would be willing to follow after him and it was a dangerous plan, but it would work and that was what mattered.

_We must move this battle out into the open. Prime is arriving with his troops,_ Springer sent them. It was time to earn their reputation again.

On the other side of the battle injured Topspin was fighting with even more injured Mixmaster and owning the combiner on the cracking floor. The cackling chemist really didn't stand a chance when he decided to pick a fight with Topspin.

"This is the end of Devastator," Topspin taunted his opponent, his optics dim, in energy-conservation mode, "You'll be but molten scrap when I'm through with you."

Mixmaster was at a huge disadvantage at the moment, but it didn't last for long. His gestaltleader intervened the fight. Topspin, who had really taken out everything he had on Mixmaster, was in trouble now. Scrapper was a ruthless warrior, partly because few thing were scarier that gestalts when a member was threatened. Topspin briefly compared Scrapper to Silverbolt when Slingshot had gotten into fight with somebody bigger and stronger, but it wasn't a good time to reminiscence. He was forced on the defensive, Mixmaster at first just watching and snickering appreciatively, but soon joining in the fight again. Topspin was able to handle the double team with effort, but he couldn't keep it up much longer. But then a huge form loomed behind the two Devastator members and knocked Scrapper violently away. Broadside was badly damaged from the blast Megatron had dealt to him, but his sheer size compensated.

"Thanks, Side," Topspin shouted over the roar of battle. Together, two on two, they danced their way towards the great bay doors.

The two terrible twosomes fighting were one thing, they were mostly even. Retreating through a straight, narrow corridor with no cover when your enemy had so much more firepower and better armour was an invitation to destruction, Springer knew. He had his simulation computer, extra battle computer installed for situations just like this, analyze the situation. Variables: length of the corridor, maximal speed capability in the corridor, material of the roof, blast required to bring it down, length of time it would stand against Megatron. The result was that he had only two astrosecond's error marginal. Too tight for his comfort, but he had to do it. Optimus Prime had arrived.

Prowl had once described his approach to fighting with a reluctantly admiring: "I'd think he was suicidal if I didn't know him better." Time to earn that too. Even questionable praise from Prowl was hard to come by.

The battle was fluid like dance macabre. He dodged fire, fired himself, sprung into the corridor and fired his second last missile straight up. He turned and run. The air heated behind him with a boom, but more matter fell down to replace the first block. Out of corridor into the bay, the block gave in, but the two seconds had been enough. Both Broadside and Topspin would risk death if they fought any more, but now the Prime had arrived. A chaos reigned outside, Constructicons trying to get together to combine, Twin Twist had ended up fighting Barricade. Hailstorm had arrived. Into this whirlpool they thrust through the busted doors.

Optimus Prime saw Megatron and Megatron saw Optimus Prime. Hailstorm didn't bother to lock optics with Taser, who blistered with fury. Time moved in slow motion.

Optimus Prime looked at Megatron, determined. It had been rather long time and his memory, while sharp to the last pixel, had still become dull on the emotional scale. His brother was intimidating as always, Optimus could see the telltale scorch marks and blistering from weapons fire on his chestplates and the subtler dents of a collision along his shoulder armour. It was not a sign of weakening, but a warning; a way to display the soldier of soldiers' strenght for having survived all that had been thrown at him. This I have survived, his once gentler, if not exactly gentle, brother said without words. Dare you try to best me? He did, he had to. But where was the All Spark? It was necessary for him plan to end this all.

"Optimus Prime!" The harsh voice rumbled through the damp night air like cannon fire.

"Megatron." Megatron's tread was confident as he approach, it echoed against the dam with many ghosts.

Starscream hadn't stopped swearing blue streak since the beginning of the completely out-of-hands battle. He had not stopped mentally damning Soundwave to the Pit in every way he knew for not delaying Optimus Prime more, the Wreckers to follow him since they hadn't had the good sense to get anything done and Hailstorm just for the good measure. Before things got more out of hand, he decided, Megatron would die. Never mind the All Spark, he wanted that at least_._ And then he would again leave the atmosphere and return to Cybertron, curse the slag-scorched place it had become.

With this in mind he dove to intercept Ironhide.

Taser had no idea who he had been before Endgame, but he knew Hailstorm had been the one to name him. He had told him so when they had laid a trap for Calabi-Yau.

Most Decepticons wouldn't agree with him, valuing flying models and especially jets above everything else, but to Endgame his new mech had been perfect. The sky was already theirs, now it was time to own the ground and the new one's secondary weapons system was best suited for hand-to hand fighting. Long range discharges in the air would only endanger his own troops. Even his smaller frame could be of use, being the size of most of their ground-bound enemies would get him into places where the big jets just couldn't get even with the help of grease and a crowbar. So Endgame had reformatted and upgraded and mathematics had probably played on the background, simple and soothing. Taser could imagine it. He had seen Endgame do so unto others.

His programming had been a flawless mix of lethal preciseness and neverending bliss that twisted all Endgame's mechs into works of art, perfect loyalty among the deceptive ones, like a touch of purest white and splash of energon blue complementing the commander's own purple. Endgame had once told him, in the middle of interfacing, how arts had never been of any real interest on Cybertron and he had chafed, being constricted by limited understanding. Megatron's cause had let him out to play. He had spent cycles with Taser.

"He reminds me of a certain general that became the Lord Protector before our lord's time. Ampere, he was called," Hailstorm had said. Endgame could admit to a parallel to the mythical hero, the one who had crushed the slave ring of Kaon before the reformation and beginning of the Golden Age and ruled beside Sentinel Prime. How ironic. Most would only see the obvious and take it as a statement of what Taser was, an electric discharge weapon, but he and Hailstorm would know the punch line. Hailstorm had probably watched him with amusement, he couldn't be forgiven for his part in the naming and Endgame had opened a panel to write the new name into Taser's processor. We are all lunatics in a bedlam, Taser thought.

And he charged.

Once, one of the pathetic flesh creatures that had gotten a hold of him had gotten poetic. In ice Megatron hadn't learned much of his captors and had absolutely no desire to do so, but he was not deaf and that one poem, read out loud, had actually pleased him. It probably wasn't the soldier's own. These drones didn't have the spark to create even words, put them together and make them mean something.

When the stars threw down their spears,  
And water'd heaven with their tears,  
Did He smile His work to see?  
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Indeed he did and it was time to remind the lambs of this.

A series of explosions aimed to Optimus, but they didn't come close to connecting, weren't supposed to. He heard Ironhide growl angrily beside him as the weapons specialist fired at Starscream, but had to cease fire as Whirl flew into line of fire, intercepting the Decepticon Air Commander mid-air.

"That was the only warning shot you get, Prime. Hand me the All Spark!" Megatron roared.

"Never, Megatron!" Optimus shot a round back. The next shot was aimed at his head.

* * *

Walter Simmons felt like someone had stuffed his head full of cotton, but he forced himself to stand straight and analyze the situation. He had been informed that his son had arrived in the company of suspicious people. He had ordered the ready team to extract his son and capture the strangers. He had passed out, obviously. Now there was a fight, one that shook the structure of the base, and his people were running like headless chickens, not caring where, not capable to say more than N.B.E:s and battle. Plural. For a little while he had thought it was the Soviet Union agents trying to get their hands into the Project Iceman. If wished were fished nobody would starve and the damn liberalists would stop whining about the Third World countries.

And they had moved the Ice Man from the Arctic base to a more secure facility to avoid things like these. He remembered his cell phone acting up. As much as they had needed funds, his predecessor shouldn't have chosen communication equipment to the development project. The fool.

The gun in his desk drawer probably wouldn't be of much use against the technological harbingers, but it was the principle that mattered. He would no go unarmed. He had to get out of the base and coordinate the regrouping of his troops. Calling the army in would also be a good idea. He had to see to it that the new ice cannons were ready. Sector Seven's time had come and they had lost the control of the situation completely. There would be hell to pay.

* * *

Once there was a boy named Ron Witwicky who dreamed about a mystic cube from outer space and an alien war. When Ron turned six, the cube told him he had to go away for a while, and it would be better if Ron forgot about him and the visions in the meantime. He promised to come back someday and then Ron would remember.

"I'm pretty sure that you used to be a boy, or, male," Ron told the Cube in his hands, huddled into the cave-like crack. He was tired, he was waiting for something, he was hungry and hurting. Some days it didn't pay to get up from your bed. He had seen, or heard rather, people getting killed. Killed for real, not like in movies.

_Not any more than I am a female now, in the biological meaning of the word. There are parallels to parthenogenesis in my situation, so female is a good allegory now, but in truth it's about how you perceive me.__ When you were a child you perceived me as another boy. _

Ron hunched his shoulders. She, he, it, whatever. She was so alien and he felt like he'd had a friend that turned out to be… something he really didn't… he had no idea. But it wasn't a nice feeling.

"You said you are going to create zygotes?" he asked. Zygotes sounded like some kind of weapons that shot lightning bolts, but what had that to do with being a father? Unless Autobot guns were sentient too? Could they kill on their own?

_I am bound, in a way, to the Prime and I can tell he has decided to end this war once and for all. I can not allow the war go on either, but I can not allow the children of Primus to die out either. I am a __semelparous organism now and in need of gestational carrier. I am sorry you were introduced to this chaos, but the situation wasn't under my control. I have to do damage control. _

Ron didn't understand what the All Spark was saying and he had a feeling she was doing it on purpose and this was really beginning to bother him. Not just the abducted by aliens, secret army base massacre, abducted again by an evil alien thing that bothered him; though that definitely had a part in it. Ron thought he was going crazy. Not angry-crazy or even 'aliens do exist' crazy, though that had a hand in it too. He was insane crazy, because here he was talking to a size-shifting alien mother cube about giving birth to guns because of his great-great-grandfather's glasses.

"Am I crazy?" he asked, even though he wasn't expecting an honest answer.

_No, you are not. I am sorry about this. Your mind was not made to understand everything that I am, Ron. I have to act as an allegory which your mind can understand. But rest assured, zygotes a__re no guns. Now they come. _

Ron panicked briefly, his mind providing all kinds of horrifying pictures of murderous Decepticons that would kill him and take the All Spark. Then he thought about Wreckers. He really wanted to see Sandstorm or Springer right now.

"Ron! Are you there?" Judy's voice called him and it was even better. He crawled out of his hiding base and waved his hand to the darkness.

"I'm here!" he shouted. A little pebble fell from above him and he looked up. He was maybe five meters down the canyon wall and Judy and Reg were standing up, trying to find a good way to climb down to him.

"Don't bother, I'll climb up," he said and measured the All Spark in his hands. Then he threw it with all his might and it landed on the stone with a quiet thud. He had climbed into trees a lot when he had been younger. It couldn't be that different.

Judy knelt down to touch the All Spark. It had grown to be bigger than life in his mind, but in truth it was pretty small. So much power, the world's greatest power plant. And it needed her, necessarily. It made her feel important, but also very small.

"Hi there. I promise to take good care of the little one," she whispered. She petted it in soothing patterns. Reg was shuffling his legs beside her, but she couldn't pay attention.

"There is something wrong with Judy," she heard him whisper, "first she said that she was a teabag and then she begun to sing 'We are off to see the Wizard'." Teabag? When had she said that?

Ron was breathing heavily; it hadn't been as easy as he had thought. Judy seemed to be okay, but calling herself teabag couldn't be a good thing. What if she had hit her head? Then his gaze shifted to the All Spark and he felt a compulsion. Parthenogenesis literally translated as virginal creation. He didn't know how he knew, no, he did. No reason to be in denial. Judy was all right and zygotes were no guns. The All Spark was letting them know what to do. He knelt too and took a hold of one of the Cube's corners. The metal bent under his fingers like clay. He pulled, he twisted and pulled again, with all his might. Nothing happened; he was doing something wrong. Maybe he should try asking nicely.

"Separate, please. That's supposed to happen," he tried. No results.

He was clearly going the wrong way about it. He was thinking the wrong way. Violence would do little against the All Spark and its not like she didn't know what needed to be done. It was supposed to be a natural process. Natural. The enlightment hit and Ron felt extremely stupid for not thinking about it right away. He lift the All Spark, turned it upside down, letting the corner hang and put his cupped hand below it. Like a drop of syrup, slowly but steadily, the drop grew bigger and heavier, the strand connecting it to the Cube thinner and thinner until, with a plop terribly loud to his ears, the corner dropped into his palm.

It was round and beautiful and he could swear he felt pinpricks of electric life from it.

Judy had looked at Ron's attempt, calm and happy. She felt like she should feel otherwise about this, but she wasn't sure how. It was very hard to think beyond the happy haze. When the fragment, the but, the egg dropped into Ron's palm she lifted the hem of her shirt baring her stomach. Her mother believed in many strange things, aliens, sprouts and conspiracies. Maybe she should give sprouts a chance too. Her mother also believed in the Moon.

_Women are connected to the moon by our blood, our hormones and our souls_, one of the magazines had read. The first step in claiming the gifts of menstrual cycle was to become re-acquainted with Mother Moon. Putting aside all the scientific phenomena of the way the Moon affected the earth's tides, weather, animals, fluids and moods, symbolically the Moon had a lot to teach them. In myth the Moon was a primary female archetype travelling the great round of Birth, Maturation, Death and Rebirth each month. This was a primal fundamental cycle of the universe of which every single living thing participated. Virgin birth, sexuality, gender, but no gender. It was a fitting union.

And then Ron pushed the egg against her stomach. It hurt when it touched his skin and it hurt more when it turned into odd, dense liquid that slowly went through his skin, seeping through and the silvery hue disappeared deeper, into invisibility.

"Ron, make it stop hurting me!" she screamed, doubling over. It hurt, it hurt, it HURT! It stopped hurting after few endlessly long seconds like somebody had turned a switch. Her head was light, so light.

Judy was still straining for breath, but there was a big, numb feeling inside her, little hot and nothing more. She could feel pinpricks in her fingertips, toes, nose and ears and her hair was standing in her head. Even her tongue was prickling and she wondered if putting your tongue into a socket would feel like that. Jane had screamed a lot, when Judy had dared her to do so in third grade. The heat was pooling inside her, in the likeness of sinful flesh and it felt good. She petted her stomach.

"I'm sorry, so sorry; I didn't mean to hurt you!" Ron was babbling and Judy gave him a smile. He was so sweet.

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine," she whispered and stole a kiss.

_Ron, Judy, for such young humans, barely older than children by your reckoning, your ability to mature and accept this new responsibility is admirable. You have great strength and courage and a very open mind._

Reg flinched, scared. He could hear that! Whatever it was, he could hear it too. Maybe the fight had released some kind of chemicals and they were all high as kites! It was the only possible answer.

Ron had just broken a piece out of the All Spark and put it through Judy's stomach. First he had been abducted by aliens and two human henchmen and though there were no medical experiments he'd now had to witness something that resembled suspiciously an alien artefact sex. Either he was high as kite or just cursed, but he hadn't deserved this. An explosion broke the night again and he grimaced. The army would come, this was like the end of the world and Ron and Judy were just cuddling after mystic cube sex!

"Get up! We must go!" he dragged Judy up first, because she was lighter. Ron then rose on his own.

"So we must," he stated, his voice very mild and agreeing and suddenly Reg had a very bad feeling about it.

* * *

Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.

astrosecond 0.498 seconds

breem 8.3 minutes

cycle (IDW continuity) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)

mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours

deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks

stellar cycle (IDW)7.5 months

vorn 83 years

AN: Wow, this one was hard to write. The All Spark caused me a lot of trouble.

The All Spark could have spoken to Ron right away since they had already established connection once, but humans tend to think they are insane if they hear voices in their heads ( unless they really are crazy, then it may feel like normal.) She got Ron used to the idea step by step, always little more weirdness. Judy hadn't gotten the preliminary introduction, as you could see. Poor Judy.

The poem recited was Tiger by William Blake. I don't own it. By the way, the human reading it was Walter Simmons himself.

And when Ron was a little boy he saw the All Spark as a friend, another boy, because that was most natural to him.

Taser's alt mode is 1960 Studebaker Lark and Bumblebee's Volkswagen Beetle (like in G1).


	11. The end of an era 2

**The end of an era 2**

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.

* * *

His sensory readings parted like water, leaving empty space, beautiful nothingness, and his secondary sensors kicked in. Sringer felt the All Spark get closer and he cursed in his mind. Primus help them, he hoped Megatron was too busy with Optimus Prime to pay attention. There was a slight anomaly in the readings and an automatic sub-routine of his checked it out. He had no interest now. Then the results came up and he did a double-take, stumbled out of the fight, probably unbalancing Optimus, but unable to help. The white space, according to its dimensions, should have two centers. Near each other, near enough to collide, but it wasn't happening.

What slag in Primus' name? It did not compute.

There was a reason he was equipped with scientific equipment, but he had only kept the sensory software. He didn't even like to remember his one-time creator. Hundreds of vorns ago, Flame had been a member of the Iacon Academy of Science and Technology on Cybertron. He had proposed adapting Megatron's plan, turning Cybertron into a mobile war world, so that it would instead become a mobile spaceship, but Optimus Prime had spoken out against the plan, as the ethics of the plan were questionable to say the least and the fusion reactor required would be too dangerous. Flame had been denied funds to continue his research. He hadn't given up. He had embezzled money from the academy and continued his research in an old lab in the city of Kalis with the experimental engines that Starscream had built for Megatron.

It was before the war, when things still made sense. But the double reading would made sense in no context. There was only one The All Spark. The one and only. His sensors had to be glitching.

They hadn't glitched since the day the mech that had built them had tweaked them purposefully, to draw him near.

Flame had spent vorns attempting to repair the engines ready for firing and solve the energy problem, to prove that he was right all along. He had disappeared and left Springer hurt and rejected. Then the war begun and vorns later yet a massive explosion devastated the city of Kalis and the Autobot headquarters that had been built there. Soon, the base was attacked by reanimated shells of the victims, mere drones now. Wanting an audience to see him proved right, Flame had kidnapped all of the surviving Autobots he could get his hands on, including Optimus Prime and the Wreckers. He had fought for his leader like a mech reprogrammed until he had caught a glimpse of his creator. A half-cocked attempt to save Flame had left him knocked out.

Flame planned to fire the fusion engines and set Cybertron on course through the cosmos, much to everybody's dismay. Before the war it had been unethical and whimsical, now during the energy crisis it was fragging madness. Flame and Optimus, the only one out of the holding cell, began to fight, but Flame proved too strong to beat quickly. The fusion engines became dangerously unstable and were moments from going to critical meltdown, but Flame would still not listen to reason.

At the last minute the Wrecker leader, Impactor, arrived and killed Flame. He then sacrificed himself again, being destroyed by radiation as he shut down the reactor. Springer dealt with it. Not happily, but they had been estranged for many vorns and he dealt like everyone else. No one still lived and was without their scars. War gave everyone tragic past.

Still, those custom research and analysis sensors were malfunctioning again and he had a bad feeling about it. Even if he had just been hit that hard.

Optimus Prime was assessing the situation. Devastator was an immensely powerful warrior, prone to raging bouts of destructive fury. However, because his left leg, Mixmaster, was so badly injured his sheer destructiveness was limited and because primitive psyche is limited to only the thoughts and actions on which all his components can agree Roadbuster easily dominated the fight, with assistance from Jazz. Topspin and Broadside were currently out of fight and Ratchet was seeing to them, cursing them right through the stratosphere. That left Barricade for Twin Twist and Bumblebee, Starscream for Whirl and Ironhide, Hailstorm for Taser, Blackout for Scoop and Sandstorm and Frenzy harassing the wounded.

Optimus Prime and Springer fought Megatron together.

Springer was retreating from the fight, probably badly damaged since before Optimus had arrived, but Optimus had fought his counterpart for a very long time. He knew he would escape mostly unscathed yet again; with him, Megatron wasn't even truly trying. That made what he was going to do all the more painful, but he wouldn't stand aside and watch his soldiers get slaughtered in his stead anymore.

"Devastator, separate! You are less useful than numbers now!" Megatron bellowed and with this change there would be eleven fighting one-on one. It was bad for his smaller bots, Jazz and Bumblebee, especially bad for Ratchet whose attention was on his patients. Megatron fired his fusion cannon to force Springer aside.

"Don't you think that was a bit of overkill?" Optimus asked, twisting his body to protect his retreating comrade.

"In a war there is no overkill, brother mine. There is only "open fire" and "I need to reload"," Megatron declared. This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, he thought. You truly are incorruptible aren't you? He knew they would dance like this forever and it didn't sound like a bad eternity to him. Not anymore, this deadly grace of theirs.

Springer run towards the strange readings with great leaps that made the ground vibrate. There hiding under a bush, completely inefficiently, were three humans and Ronald was holding the All Spark tightly against his chest. The second centre was located somewhere inside Judy.

"What you think you are doing, bringing the All Spark this close to the battle?" he demanded harshly. The younglings were no soldiers, but anyone should have at least that much common sense, especially if they were small enough to get stepped on.

"Optimus Prime needs it for the plan," Ron whispered. He held the All Spark protectively and seemed almost to be in tears. He was breathing his mouth open.

He was almost in tears. It had dawned to Ron somewhere on their way from his hiding place to the battlefield that the plan succeeding would mean All Spark's death. Not the All Spark anymore, just All Spark, the second one already in Judy's belly and how had she taken it so peacefully anyway? He had a feeling that All Spark had had a hand in that and there would be a hell to pay, for him. But she had just done what she had to. Like she had done when she had first gotten him mixed into the mess, and it hadn't really been her fault. Archibald Witwicky had gone to the Arctic Expedition of his own free will and Megatron had marked the glasses. Megatron was cosmic levels of bastard because he wanted to be. She hadn't really betrayed him and so he had to fight tears.

She wasn't crying. It was her plan, originally, and she was going to be the one to pay. He had to be as strong as she was.

"What you think you are doing, bringing the All Spark this close to the battle?" Springer demanded harshly. He hoped he didn't have to help her do it. Maybe he didn't?

_If Megatron wins this battle he will destroy this world, out of spite. You can't risk that happening._

And God forgive him, he couldn't. The thought was too big to contemplate and he found himself numbly answering to Springer.

What plan the human was talking about? There was no way he could have come in contact with Optimus Prime at any point of the battle and the Autobot leader hadn't told him of any plan.

"There is no plan," he answered, realizing only then how bad that sounded.

"Just ask Optimus Prime," Ronald quietly told him, holding the All Spark even tighter. His hands were shaking. Springer was suspicious, but it couldn't hurt, could it? He picked a secured channel.

_Prime, Ronald Witwicky has the All Spark here,_ he sent. The response was immediate.

_Bring it here,_ Optimus Prime told him. Now Springer really not-liked the situation, abhorred it dreams and weird sensor readings included, but he knew better than arguing in the middle of the battle so he snatched the All Spark from the boy, praying his leader knew what he was doing and why.

The second centre wasn't moving. White space was twisting like hot, sluggish metal.

* * *

When Taser had killed Endgame it had been out of sheer rage held in a tight grip, but had she had the presence of mind to think about it she would have known it was revenge too. It was different now than the crystal clear compulsion that warped his mind, but he had a feeling he was killing his past now. If he only managed to kill Hailstorm he would never again have to deny himself energon until his fuel tanks were empty and pure and it wasn't like he liked hurting himself.

If he had been Ironhide, built for forceful law-enforcing and heavily modified after joining the army, and even more for the war, Hailstorm would have ended up very dead. As it was, he had probably been a courier before joining the Decepticons (why had he done something so utterly idiotic?) and Hailstorm was much bigger than him. His main weapons were riffles and his tasers and the electric arc that cut the air was beautifully destructive, but not enough. Hailstorm seemed more irritated than hurt and that angered him.

"Why don't you just die? After all the crazy scrap you have done!" He wasn't being fair and after so long it was wonderful.

"Taser," Hailstorm recognized him. No more, but he had always been this blank. Hailstorm was his mortal rival now when the real culprit was gone, but he probably barely made the breem's rival to the other.

He only heard the loud crackling as a bolt of red light shot from the icy infiltrator's weapon. He could hear and sense the pressure of something exploding beyond his range of vision, could feel the heat and the bits and pieces of stone raining down on him. They twisted and threw themselves against each other again, her electric discharge weapon crackling.

"Look what you named me after!" he screamed. Hailstorm withstood the second discharge with little more difficulty than the first.

"You are still crazy," he stated like a fact, "but that's not surprising, is it?"

They fought, blast after blast, strike after strike, exchanged and drew back. The battle was twirling like dance as they dodged random fire that escaped from the other fighters and Taser prayed to All Spark that neither he nor anyone he liked, except Optimus Prime who seemingly had no self-preservation protocols and was bound to do so, ended up against Megatron alone, just like always. In the end, it wasn't a dirty trick or any special technique. Hailstorm just was that much better or luckier, he shot Taser's left leg and he fell down. He was done, but he wasn't done as he looked into the small crack in the other's hip plates. He could see the protometal through it, one of the few places the other had it and it was good luck at last. Because shock there would hurt like smelting pit. Hailstorm seemed to have no last quip, no compulsion to gloat, as he aimed and every sensor in Taser's leg protested as he rolled out of the way the best he could and sent a lightning without raising his hand.

Pain like something he hadn't experienced in hundred vorns shot through Hailstorm and while he shot reflexively he knew it hit only ground. His vision was cycling through its settings: infra red, ultra violet, night vision, x-ray vision and cosmic rays. He barely felt when Taser pressed his riffle against his chest plates. The other one had no intention to gloat, either. He shot three times and the last shot pierced Hailstorm's spark chamber.

His processor rebooted and he had to bring his optics online manually. It was all he had time to do before every sensor in his body started to scream in pain. For few astroseconds that moved sluggishly in pain he had no recollection of who he was. And then he was Gadget, disoriented, damaged and more than little scared. He had gone to report in to his new Commanding Officer and now he was in the middle of a fight, on a planetside. He was lying on his back, staring the sky. It was blue there, but it didn't say much. He reached for his first-aid mini drone, but he didn't have it on him. What had happened to him and why couldn't he remember? He was Autobot Gadget. The inventor of creative ways to make things go boom, the daredevil, junior engineer under the command of Magenta, he was… He was Hailstorm and he understood what was happening to him. He really hadn't expected it to end like this. Pity.

Then the world reasserted itself in a ruthless fashion and a harsh shriek broke through his vocalizer. He was Shimmer, wasn't he? Why was he in pain? Frag all this existential crap, Shimmer thought viciously. He glared at the sky above him which explained where he was, but not how he had gotten down there. And he was Hailstorm again and he remembered. Not very much anymore, but he viewed what he could.

Hailstorm had infiltrated the neutral mining settlement, his first mission. From his vantage point on top of an old observatory tower he could see the entire layout of the place. It had been a tiny place, similar to a any other settlement Hailstorm had seen on Cybertron. He had lived in one, few stellar cycles ago. It was small, with perhaps sixty inhabitants at the most and no professional soldiers. It was a hard life, as he knew well. He had lived the life until the Decepticons had intercepted Minor Beta Hex, sparing only the flight-capable mechs. He had wanted to live, so he did. Minesweeper had been an instructor with the Decepticon Empire for nearly its whole existence. He'd had a hand in training nearly every spy in the Decepticon army.

White Noise.

That settlement had been supposed to be the site of a secret Autobot boot camp, full of sympathizers planning on smuggling supplies to Autobot resistance cells in Kaon. The idea had been completely absurd. The Decepticon Empire wanted the neutrals destroyed and their territory taken, so that they would do. Getting results led advancement in ranks and the chance to go up against more challenging opponents.

Torch.

It hadn't mattered to Hailstorm that the rumour wasn't true. He had been giving as good as he had gotten. Decepticon High Command wanted the Acid Wastes settlements pacified and the rumours of Autobot spaceports and boot camps were as good justifications for what had to be done as any. He lived, he just wasn't quite sure why. At least he didn't regret, that was what he had been afraid at first.

Several of his sub-systems had shut down. His repair systems attempted to repair his cracked spark chamber at twenty-two percent functionality, to no avail. Right arm non-functional. Polarity. He was junior field medic first class Polarity. Senior medic Ratchet had left to join Prowl and a few other Autobots from his unit on a mission on the second asteroid belt, leaving Smokescreen in charge of the base and those who remained. So from that moment on till Ratchet returned Polarity was on his own, whether he wanted or not. Primus, what was he doing, lying there injured? He had to help the others, he was the only one that could! He tried to sit, but failed. Wheeljack should be there too, but the engineer could only step in to help in the case of a dire emergency. Then again, that definitely was one. The fight was still going on. His consciousness was slipping; he couldn't even manually override the stasis lock. He didn't want to die.

Hailstorm had been deadly injured in the Battle of Hoover Dam, but Polarity was the one to die.

* * *

Growling, Ratchet grabbed Frenzy's shoulder. The little one had almost slit his main fuel line with one his shurikens.

"Hold still, you midget-sized knife factory!" he bellowed to the slippery hacker. Frenzy separated into two parts to escape his circular saw that whirred close to his midsection.

"Accursed pint-con!" Frenzy was trying his damnest to kill the wounded and while his shurikens would have been no threat to the Wreckers had they been well, they weren't. Broadside was the one worst off, a direct hit from Megatron's cannon wasn't an energon walk even for someone as big as he. Topspin had less immediately life threatening damage, but the damage done to his fuel processing unit would be a glitch to fix later. And you didn't want to process and then eject fuel from system to system. That hurt like little else. He would need a circulatory mock-up.

Frenzy slit a coolant line in Ratchet's right elbow joint. That hurt too.

Crackling of an energy weapon, beautifully destructive claws, Megatron charged at Optimus Prime like great, fluid tidal wave. Optimus dodged, blocked and struck back, certain that he could bear this one last time without crumbling.

_Prime, Ronald Witwicky has the All Spark here,_ Springer sent to Optimus Prime. He was going to do the unthinkable, what could he say to his soldier?

_Bring it here,_ he ordered, steeling himself. All it took was one moment of courage and then it would be over.

Optimus struck Megatron and dodged far out of reach towards Springer and his trusted Wrecker came through for him despite the unanswered questions lingering between then, charged in and his han touched Optimus' briefly. Then Springer was gone again, per Optimus's stern order, and despite the circumstances the look on Megatron's face was truly amusing, even hilarious. The prize was now in Optimus's left hand, smaller than it used to be, but just as true.

Grief still lingered in Optimus' spark, but now another emotion was flowing steady through his spark too and it was core-deep frustration and anger, unexpected in its strength. His brother had shredded and thrown away everything that used to be beautiful and full of life in favor of mindless destruction, all he had once sworn to protect with his life. So many of theirs had fallen since and now he found himself staring at his brother like he would a gamma-ray storm, ruthless havoc. Now there was another planet, another species in harm's way. More death for his brother to devour.

"One shall stand, one shall fall." He said the words solemnly and Megatron didn't come close to understanding how serious he was this time. He charged for Optimus once more. Optimus accepted the whirling rush of violence and madness calmly, determination beyond questions. Cybertron would stay lifeless husk, but its true hope had been given up a long time ago. Earth would live on.

Once they had fought only to hone each other into perfection, to protect each other. Once there had been the sound of Optimus' back crashing loudly into the wall in the training platform as Megatron had stepped in close, frustrated and worried as he reprimanded:

"Pay more attention to your opponent's legs, or one cycle that move might be the death of you." It had been a genuine, innocent comment in those golden, innocent cycles, made in earnest. Now there was sound of Lord High Protector Megatron's shoulder scraping against the mountain face. The Decepticon leader almost, but not quite, fell down into the canyon and water below them. Optimus stepped closer. His sensors could pick up the scent of death and energon and hot metal, it clung to them like another shell.

"Pay attention, Megatron, that move was nearly the death of you this cycle around," said in earnest anger, bitter and mocking, the rumble of Prime's voice harsher than he had meant and he mourned what could never be again.

In the light that was spreading into the newly lit lights like hope from the broken doors of the ruined secret base, Optimus Prime reflected sharp and golden like the reflection of Primus in his creative glory, the All Spark divine in his hands, and for the briefest of moments Megatron hesitated, suddenly unnerved. But he shrugged the sense of foreboding off, he hadn't come this far, to the verge of proving his infuriating brother that he was right, to back off because of irrational emotion. Even better eternity could be his now, one where he was right and Optimus Prime knew it also. What was a vision of light to him? Light was dead, the entropy had won, he had won.

His energon intake hitching, Optimus grinded his gears and lifted the All Spark towards the intimidating creature looming over him. Energy crackled along his hands and it burned like acid, making him wince. Still he held on, shoving it toward the glowing cavity he knew was within Megatron's chest. He had seen the other's spark once before, when he had still been called Orion Pax. They had been young and curious and very trusting. Determined blue optics focused hard on the one specific point he had to hit to penetrate the chest plates and get to the spark. He knew he only had one try. It wasn't enough, his own spark screamed out in desperation as the first try only cracked those vital, enforced plates, but Megatron stumbled all the same, reaching for Optimus to keep his balance.

He had decided, he had all the reasons in the universe. It burned all the same.

"What are you doing, Orion?" Megatron asked and while Optimus knew it was a deliberate attempt of manipulation, not even the first time Megatron had used the tactics, he hesitated. And he hit one more time as he must. The bare spark was no more brilliant than the next, but no less vibrant either. As the doomed spark burned the All Spark, licking between his fingers, its very pulse matching the pulse of his own, he was faintly aware of long, sharp claws reaching towards him. It was in vain now and he knew that Megatron knew it too. As the weapon digits buried into his shoulder they eclipsed all light of the dying Lord High Protector who had chosen to not protect, but destroy. In those precious astroseconds he didn't even have a chance to call Megatron's name.

He didn't want to die, but he wasn't really afraid either. He just couldn't understand. There was only pain and disbelief. Optimus Prime was shattered in his processor as his optics shattered and he burned. I fought till you became numb, was his last, kind of vicious thought. Then there was only feeling, love and hate, desperation and need, and then no more.

Megatron fell down. Echoes died down with a loud crash. Silence was absolute and motionless.

Twin Twist used the pause to reload with an ominous click and then the whole pit was freed once more, but this time the Decepticons were scattering, scared and shocked and lost like they had never been before. Megatron had been their god of war, living god, how could he be dead? Starscream was the first to leave; no reason to risk his life for nothing, and how could the Prime be so stupid? The All Spark was no more! It didn't compute, no way could he be that desperate, with his all-precious morals. But he was just that desperate and he, Starscream, the prince of Vos, had to flee with his hands empty.

Twin Twist took little damage from Bonecrusher's blades and then they collided again with fire and clash, but even the mindlessly savage gestalt con didn't have his spark in it anymore. And once you lost the will to fight death was only a matter of time.

_Bonecrusher, retreat!_ It was Scrapper, he was shocked enough to use an open channel.

_Hailstorm! Answer us!_ But there was no answer and they had to flee. And that was when Ratchet got Frenzy in his hands just so and his shot sent the cassette flying. He turned back to his patients with busy tools. Rest of the fight was of no interest to him now, but he couldn't help but ache for Optimus Prime.

"Time to wreck and rule! Let's send these Decepti-cans back in sparebags!" Sandstorm shouted with a shrill voice. The Wreckers fell on them and the Decepticons fled, scattered, retreated, leaving only Optimus' bots and the wounded to occupy the battlefield. Taser slowly limped to Ratchet, adding himself to the patients. He seemed dazed, like he didn't quite know where he was or doing what. Ratchet knew how that felt.

"At least we all still live," he said. No one had really expected that mercy. And the Slagmaker was, thank Primus, finally dead. He gave Optimus a meaningful look.

"You left me no choice, brother," Optimus said solemnly. Settled deep in Megatron's protometal was a bit of the All Spark, all that was left from the very concentrated explosion. Optimus picked it up and for few precious astroseconds there was a whisper of life, but then it was gone. Optimus clutched piece of the All Spark close to his own shell.

"What now?" Taser asked with a small voice.

He felt empty, like his central processor had been entirely wiped leaving him blank. He had known what he was doing, it hadn't been an idle decision, a whim, but no determination in the universe could prepare for what he had done. Destroyed the All Spark, wiped out the future of his race and the reason of his own existence with one single push. Logically thinking they had been doomed ages ago, but hope was the last to die. Primus, let me be wrong in this pain, he thought, shuddering when he thought how their deity would see him now.

"I am pregnant!" a human screamed.

He turned around, everyone turned around to look at the young human female, standing little apart from the gathered Autobots. He consulted the Teletraan 1 database and when that didn't yield an answer the fledgling information web of humans. Pregnancy, the carrying of one or more offspring, known as a fetus or embryo, inside the uterus of a female human. How he envied her species for being capable of creating their offspring with their own bodies. But the way she had screamed was a mystery to him. Optimus wasn't familiar with human nonverbal communication either, but he imagined the way his mouth was open, the hair ridges above her eyes and the stiffness of her body spoke of a shock. The creation of a new life was a joyful thing, wasn't it? One of the young males laid his hand on her shoulder, looking hesitant.

"Maybe it's not so bad. I mean, it's not your fault." He winced when he said that. The female, a girl, turned to face him and swatted his hand off.

"What you mean, not so bad? This is a catastrophe of epic proportions! What do you think I am going to tell my mom and dad, that mystic alien artefact decided it was a good idea to get me pregnant! And just how am I going to give birth to a cubicle object? What about the x-ray scans? Does it have an umbilical cord and if it does just how much sustenance is it going to need? Am I even going to survive this? And what am I supposed to tell my parents?"

Mystic alien artefact? Give birth to a cubicle object? Hope truly was the last to die, because almost painfully Optimus Prime hoped.

There were more humans, drawing near now when the battle was over. Many of their soldiers had probably died and he owed an apology for not keeping the situation better under control, but he had to get his answers first.

Judy was shocked. She was betrayed and violated, she was pregnant at the age of sixteen. The blasted cube had manipulated her, made her obediently run circles like clockwork mouse and it had decided it was a good idea to get her pregnant! With The Wizard of Oz theme music! Follow the yellow brick road her ass! Her life was over because her father was so going to kill her and hide the body.

Judy didn't like admitting it, but she was a closet romantic. When rarely she had thought about it her sense of hopeless romanticism had taken over and she had imagined marrying the boy she had been best friends with as a child at the age of twenty-something. She had imagined taking long walks with her future husband, Ron, their child in the stroller, their child lying in a cute bed next to their parents' in pink baby clothes, the proud mom and dad sitting side by side as their child grew up in utter cookie-induced bliss. When VCR died and went to the cats' heaven they would buy some small, cute dog. Of course she knew that fairy tales only existed in those beautifully drawn books in the libraries, but this was too much. She hadn't even gotten the fun part and now she was expecting some kind of baby space monster! Her heart had dropped into a deep, dark place she'd had no idea existed in her body and she knew it wasn't coming up again until she got herself out of this mess.

A big Autobot was kneeling in front of her, not as big as Broadside, but too freaking huge anyway, and somehow the face with no mouth and no real, expressive eyes still managed to convey tentative hope. Ron took her hand and squeezed it tight. It was good he appeared to want to stand by her. It's not like he didn't have anything to do with it. Maybe she could blame him. Maybe the Autobot would be kind enough to step on her and end her misery.

"I am sorry to distress you," an oddly kind and warm voice boomed, "but I must ask. What exactly do you mean by talking about the All Spark and pregnancy?"

It was wholly inappropriate moment to feel sympathetic, but she remembered what Ron had told to her when she asked why he was ready to help them, the Wreckers.

"I mean, it's pretty ridiculous to be worried of them, I know," he had said, "but they could be considered as members of endangered species. They are pretty darn dangerous pandas, or maybe more like crocodiles. Are crocodiles an endangered species?" She wasn't so sure herself, but she thought that maybe they had it even worse than her. Imagine that. And then she realized something other, something huge and happy for a change.

They must want the baby space monster cube, just like they had wanted the bigger one! And just what kind of super intelligent aliens couldn't perform a cesare section? They were supposed to do medical experiments as well as crop circles. Her parents didn't have to ever find out!

"I mean that the cube thingy decided to procreate before dying and I'm the poor single mother now," she said. Those optics brightened from blue to nearly white and yes, they wanted the cube baby. She was still mad at Ron, but her life was saved at least.

* * *

Caroline Witwicky was pacing in her living room. The night's sleep had been restless and now she had woken up, unable to go back to sleep. She hadn't wanted to wake her husband; the poor dear was worrying himself sick for their son. So was she, but she was also angry at him, for Ron wasn't the only one missing. Judy had gone missing the very same day and Caroline was half convinced that they had just taken away together, with little care for their worrying families. Even then, another part was nagging at her for being a bad, untrusting mother; that wasn't like Ron and Judy. They didn't smoke, sneak money from their parents' pockets, drink or do any of the horrible things teenagers this age seemed so prone to. They were good children. But where were they? Why couldn't they be contacted?

They most likely had their mobile phones with them, or at least the phones weren't home, but it was like the damn contraptions had just dropped out of existence. The signal couldn't even be found, or something. She had never really trusted this new-fanged technology anyway, just as bad as the nuclear power. Emilia Garland had always claimed that it all originated from aliens, but that was Emilia for you.

What if they had been kidnapped? Would she ever get her son back alive, ever hold him in her arms again?

Sleep deprivation wouldn't help Ron any. Sighing and kicking the door when she opened it, Caroline went to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate for herself. Maybe it would help her sleep. The radio was sitting on her kitchen table and she switched it on, wishing for some soothing music. The lovely chords filled the kitchen, she recognized Die Geschöpfe des Prometheus by Beethoven. She had just enough time to heat the milk before the music was interrupted by news. Bad news, but of course.

"The police say they are investigating the incident in an area where the USA military are known to operate." They talked about shots and fighting, about the battle of Hoover Dam and the communists. And suddenly, Caroline Witwicky, half sick of hearing how everything would surely be all right and tired like she couldn't remember even having been before, had a sickening feeling in her gut.

She left the radio and the kitchen table, she made three paces through the room to the hall and straight out of the house. The cool, damp night air hit her against the face and she stopped, realizing she only had a bathrobe and pink flurry slippers on. She watched the lilies, in full bloom, but hidden into the buddies for the night. Rationality reasserted itself; what would his boy be doing in Hoover Dam? How would he have gotten there in the first place? She turned to go back inside, beaten and tired, and she saw that the small glass window on the door had been cracked a little by her hard push.

"Oh, I really must be cursed," she mumbled as she stumbled back into the bedroom, hoping that tomorrow would bring better news. For few, desperate seconds she had been positive that the Hoover Dam fight had something to do with her Ron.

* * *

Hell hath no fury like one thwarted Walter Simmons. He had tried to contact the army, but had been tld, that secret Government agency or no, they would have to wait for the get-go from the said Govermnt, which would be long time coming if he knew the cowards without vision any. he remembered being told those had his son and for the sake of the said son he wished it wasn't true. He had been denied weapons, allt that was left were words and nice aliens existed only in space fantasies for adults. In real life no one came to tell the meaning of the life and how killing was wrong; in real life the aliens were soulless war machines and if he was going to die tonight he was going to give them a reason to do so. He had strapped explosives around his waist and chest and he begun walking, two of his men, though Clairmont was actually a woman. They were trying to stop him.

He wasn't about to let them. They had strapped themselves as well.

Optimus Prime, their leader. He was big and wonderfull and sad. Reg couldn't understand why he would be sad now. Doctor-bot Ratchet, he was scary, and Ironhide who had threatened him with his cannons. Reg hated the way his knees had gone soft like jelly. Jazz whose attitude didn't jazz, but rocked, mute Bumblebee and spiky Taser who was wounded pretty badly if he understood anything about how the Autobots were supposed to look like. The introductions had been hasty and odd, and Reg had only paid minimal attention to them. He was alive! They had won! Joy was bubbling inside him.

Macy could love Thomas Rye all she wanted. There had been an orange sports car and he had stepped into it. All right, been carried into it unconscious, but that as irrelevant. This was life! They had won and they all lived! He laughed for no other reason than happiness. Then he saw a jeep advancing and part of the joy was replaced by anxiousness. That had to be his father. No way would his father let someone else be the first contact, whatever way the contact was made.

Optimus Prime was anxious as the human vehicle drove towards them. The report he had gotten from Springer spoke its harsh language of carnage, fleeting, fragile human lives lost, never to be regained. These humans awaked protective instincts in him, played all the creative strings of his spark, he didn't want to see any of them in pain. He owed them an apology. He owed them more, but even the All Spark couldn't return organic sparks to life, like Nova Prime had found out in his time.

"Is he morally, ethically, spiritually, physically, positively, absolutely, undeniably and reliably dead?" Judy sing-songed with small voice, keeping brave face the best she could. She pointed towards Megatron. Optimus Prime was silent, trying to decipher the odd question, but Topspin had already had time to get used to at least the way humans' speech rarely made sense.

"Ethically, spiritually, physically, positively, absolutely, undeniably and reliably dead. Spark dead. Frostbitten dead, even," he confirmed.

"Frostbitten dead?" asked Ratchet curiously from overhead, having stopped cussing Topspin's utter and complete lack of common sense. He wasn't common with human biology yet and frostbite was an alien concept to him, as were all the other, curious ways of dying only organics could manage. The car stopped and three figured stepped out of it. Optimus prime took one, big step to greet them. Reg's heart rate skyrocketed.

"When organic tissue freezes solid, the water within that inflates the cells when it freezes, and the ice crystals puncture many important parts. Which is basically what the ice must have done to Megatron. I think that was the reason he let you just push the All Spark into him just like that, Prime. It wasn't too bad when he was immobile, but when he began to move the strain to his damaged systems began to show," he explained. Whatever Optimus Prime was going to say to the newcomers was interrupted by a shrill voice.

"And what business did you have kidnapping my son?" Walter Simmons bellowed.

It was like Reg had hoped. No Mega-man, Megatron, no Cube, All Spark, and Sector Seven wouldn't get its hands into the new one Judy was going to give birth to, out of all freaky and bizarre possibilities. He couldn't be blamed. He was the victim. All right, his father would probably blame him some anyway, but not too much. And now he found something within himself that wasn't satisfied with it. He had been right and he had risked his life. He had some self respect.

"They did nab me, true, but I wasn't exactly screaming and kicking all the way here. Actually, I thought it was theirs, and I wanted to become an engineer from begin with." He listened to himself with a detached kind of horror, wondering why he was begging for trouble like that. He was so going to get hurt for that. But he was right, he knew it and his father could beat him, but he couldn't make him think otherwise. He had won, as Walter Simmons counted victory, and Reg loved it.

And, as formidable a man as Walter Simmons was, he didn't held a candle to the Decepticons.

"Please, sir, the Sector Seven Operations Directives are there to protect us. They are not a set of vindictive pronouncements directed against making progress," the woman said, trying to drag his father away from them. She had a very short hair and the flat chest of an athlete. Reg got a feeling that she knew his father pretty well.  
"Has anyone ever seen this famous and infamous Sector Seven Operations Directive Manual?" the man asked, standing one step behind her. He was rather big and sturdy, Reg had a feeling that the captain of his school's football team would look like that if he ever enlisted.  
"Well, no," the woman admitted like she wasn't entirely sure it was the right answer.  
"They are making it up, aren't they? The bloody book doesn't exist!" the man exclaimed with something like good humour. Reg had to respect his nerves.

"Clairmont, Vaughn, I assure you that it does exist," Walter Simmons sneered. He was beyond pissed off, obviously, to not see such obvious manipulation in advance. Reg winced inwardly. Ron took his hand and then Judy took the other.

"We will talk," Optimus Prime said and Reg couldn't even imagine saying no to that voice.

"I love us," he whispered. The air was smelling like hot metal and ozone, but also like water. I was going to rain again.

* * *

Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.

astrosecond 0.498 seconds

breem8.3 minutes

cycle (IDW continuity) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)

mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours

deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks

stellar cycle (IDW)7.5 months

vorn 83 years

AN: Protometal is the liquid-like protoform metal all Cybetronians are made of and it isn't usually all used to make altform-fitting solid bodies. In protoforms protometal isn't vulnerable because it can accommodate pressure to avoid damage and there are no specialized sensors programmed to register damage as sensation that may be painful, but in a closed space with pain sensors attached it can be truly the weak spot.

Caroline's intuition was nothing supernatural. She had experienced a terrible blow, she heard from the radio about another terrible thing and her mind made an association between those two things. She was correct, but that was just a coincidence.

The Clairmont here s a descendant of Wallace Wilson Clairmont, one of the First Seven. Judy was singing Ding Dong! The Witch Is Dead from The Wizard of The Oz. I don't own it.


End file.
